


Bitter Tangerine

by purpledaisy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Descriptions of depression and anxiety, Lovers to Exes to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Some graphic descriptions of death or trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 119,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledaisy/pseuds/purpledaisy
Summary: Maybe it’s Niall, he reasons to calm his storming heart. Maybe he’s not actually gone for the holidays yet, maybe Harry got the dates confused. Slowly, he holds his breath and pushes the kitchen door open. The first thing he sees make him jump, a wooden spoon held out like a sword. Once his brain processes the sight in front of him, it’s less the sword that gets him than who is attached to the wooden spoon.“Harry,” the swordsmen speaks before Harry can, his voice low and steady though confusion laces each word.Harry’s breath catches. Every string around his heart, all the protection he spent nine months building, rips out and tears open all at once as he says, “Hi Louis.”-AU: Nine months after they break up, a twist of fate brings Harry and Louis back together at Christmas.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The first inspiration for this story came from the song Plum by Troye Sivan which is where the title is taken from. 
> 
> Shout out to Laur for letting me write so many of my ideas via Tumblr message before actually writing them down here. Writing can be a lonely place, thank you for keeping me company (even if you still don't know how this story ends). <222
> 
> Some additional notes: 
> 
> -This story includes descriptions of nightmares, hospitals/procedures (including one mention of death by violence), panic attacks and anxiety. Please feel free to message me on tumblr (daisyharry) if you want to know more before you read.
> 
> -If you try to read too closely into the way I've written about the practice of nursing or the way libraries are run, you'll be very disappointed. Please just squint at the details and go with it - it's fiction, not a career counselor.

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Spring in Oregon sneaks in slowly and never all at once. Short days of cold sun and long days of dreary rain make up the haphazard fifth season that lives between March and April. This particular day happens to be one of the dreary ones when the world smells like rain and wet grass, when it seems true spring will never come and winter is planning to stay for always. Harry doesn’t even notice the rain or the cold as he leaves the hospital, a nervous smile tugging at his lips insistently.

Earlier, he’d taken a call in a supply cupboard of all places. When he saw the unknown number appear on his phone he had a feeling he knew what it was about and ducked in to the first place available. “_Mr. Styles, we’d like to offer you the position in pediatric trauma,_” a voice two-thousand miles away echoed through the speaker. He wanted to cry as he tipped his head back and stared at the top of the supply closet, a stack of scrubs reaching nearly to the ceiling. “Thank you,” he said with his eyes closed, his stomach doing a backflip. “_Congratulations_,” the detached voice said and Harry nodded even though they couldn’t tell. He barely made it through the last hour of his shift, his heart pounding and concentration slipping. Maybe this wasn't part of the plan, but maybe it will be his saving grace.

He stops at a bar a block from their apartment unable to go straight home. The other people in the bar are there for happy hour, enthusiasm oozing off of them as he takes a seat at the bar. “Tequila no ice,” he orders. “Two slices of lime. Please.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, is the thing. Louis and him, that is. They weren’t supposed to need to be saved. Harry takes a slow sip of his tequila and lets it burn all the way down his throat and to his chest. His applying for the pediatric trauma job hadn’t even been intentional.

It was late January when it popped up on a weekly email of jobs suiting his qualifications. The description was the right trajectory for his career but the location was in the middle of the country, a city he’s never even visited: Chicago. He ignored the e-mail at the time, moving on to a Container Store sale message instead. However, what followed that first e-mail was a particularly bad week for his relationship. He and Louis danced around each other at odd hours with Harry’s night shifts and Louis’s usual nine hours at the library followed by another two at networking events off the clock. The time they spent together was hurried and tense - no solid conversations or meaningful moments. They were just two planets in a solar system who happened to be sharing an apartment. The problem is the bad weeks have been piling up for months with no end in sight.

The thing to know about them is they’ve always had the kind of love that sinks Harry's stomach and floats his heart. The kind of love that feels once in a lifetime in all the most painful ways. Painful because even in the weeks where they barely spend time in the same bed - the bed they’re supposed to share - Harry cannot find a way to lessen the way his heart feels when it comes to Louis. For all his flaws, for all _their_ flaws, Harry loves him unconditionally.

But after that terrible week - one that seemed on the inevitable heels of another terrible week - Harry went back to that e-mail he’d ignored, back to the job in Chicago. Maybe if they turned their lives upside down, moved from Eugene - the city where they met, went to college, have lived ever since - they could find a way to survive, to get out of the rut they’ve been stuck in. That’s what it felt like in the moment - like they needed to be saved from themselves and this life that is drowning them. 

So Harry had filled out the application late at night on his laptop while Louis slept next to him. He submitted the job application with almost no confidence he’d get an interview. When one phone interview turned to two, and then a job offer today, he realized he never ever planned this far ahead. 

And now, here he is. A new job in a city so far away he’ll need an airplane to get there - and a boyfriend he loves down to the threads of his soul who has no idea.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis loosens his tie as he lets himself into the apartment, his shoes wet with rain. He never wears ties but he wanted to make an impression tonight with the new district heads of the schools. Part of the library gig is schmoozing to the school officials to get them on his side, to help prove himself. He needs to be the one everyone trusts and can rely on to run the libraries properly. His college degrees have prepared him from a qualification stand point. Now he has to work on the icing - the intricate relationships in a political landscape of the library world. It just turns out part of the icing is wearing a tie he feels like might choke him if he leaves it on any longer. He flips on lights in the apartment as he goes - noting the well-lived in mess they’ve left. Piles of clean clothes on the couch - one of Harry’s body science books on the coffee table, Louis’s books for work in a pile next to it.

On the kitchen counter there’s a handwritten note that makes him smile at the same time it makes his heart sting. The beginning of the note is in his handwriting, from Monday: _Left early for a breakfast meeting with university president. Love you. _There’s a strike through the writing and Harry’s familiar writing underneath from Monday night: _Got called in an hour early. Left curry for you in the fridge. Put too much pepper again - oops. All my love. _It’s cut through with a squiggle line and it’s Louis’s writing again, Tuesday morning: _Should we become pen pals? Going in to work early again for a meeting. Love. _ And Harry’s after that on Tuesday night: _Not pen pals. I’d miss your face too much. I’m working a double so sleeping at hospital. Be home tomorrow night. Promise. _The final note is what greeted Louis last night and there’s no point in writing back: Harry will be home tonight.

He gets a bottle of wine from the cupboard over the refrigerator and pours himself a glass, hoping Harry gets out of the hospital soon. Even though it's his second year, they work him too hard for Louis’s liking; drag him from shift to shift to the point he can’t seem to find a way to catch his breath. There end up being days like this, weeks like this, where they don’t see each other. If they do, it’s in the middle of the night: Harry crawling into bed after his shift ends, trying to be quiet because Louis’s gets up at five. For three to five peaceful hours, they sleep together but unconscious hours together have never made a relationship whole.

It’s supposed to be temporary Harry says - the insane hours and demanding calls to run to a shift unexpectedly. But there’s no definition of the word temporary when it comes to his job and Louis is too afraid to ask when Harry has dark circles under his eyes most days and his smile doesn’t light up his face anymore. Harry loves nursing, Louis knows it like he knows all the freckles on Harry’s back. Louis has never seen such a painful love affair, though - one pressing painfully on the person he loves most.

He’s jolted from his thoughts when the door slips open and there stands the man of the hour - the man of every second of his day for the last eight years: Harry. “Hey stranger,” he says as he shuts the door, leftover rain flattening his hair.

Louis presses off the counter and crosses their apartment. “Hey you,” he says. Harry falls into him when he kisses him, his arms slipping around Louis’s waist and Louis’s hands twisting their way into his hair, dampness touching his finger tips. Harry’s lips are cold and he shivers against Louis. “You taste like tequila, darling,” Louis says when he pulls back.

“And you taste like wine,” Harry whispers and then kisses him again, quick. He takes off his jacket while Louis goes to fill another glass of red for Harry.

They catch up on the last four days like they’ve been on vacation though, in truth, they’ve just been running circles around the same twelve block vicinity - Eugene isn’t that big, after all. Through the conversation, Louis can’t help but notice Harry’s distraction. Eight years has helped Louis develop an acute understanding of the ways, means, and manners of Harry Styles - and he can read his anxiety from across the table even as Harry finishes his first glass of wine and then a second. Harry’s stories always tend to be scenic journeys but tonight they seem to be taking a turn off bumpy tracks - alcohol and whatever is bothering him clouding the road. “Hey,” Louis reaches for his hand and runs his thumb over his knuckles. “Everything okay?”

Harry blinks at him and then takes a deep sip of wine. “I have some news actually.”

Louis stays still, “You do?" 

There’s a small smile on Harry’s mouth and then he’s up out of his chair, standing in the kitchen. “I do.”

Louis tilts his head, curious. “Tell me, then.”

He takes a deep breath, puffing his chest and on the exhale he says, “I got another job.”

Louis’s brows furrow automatically. “At Sacred Heart? Like a promotion?”

“No, a new job.”

Louis clasps his hands together in his lap and leans forward. “You’re going to have to give me more than that, babe.”

“I was offered a position for a pediatric trauma position.”

Confusion seeps to a backflipping heart. Louis can recite each of Harry’s dreams and goals backward and pediatric trauma has been his North Star since he realized he wanted to be a nurse at all. Saving the world, saving kids, has been all he’s wanted all along. “No way,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.

“In Chicago.”

Louis’s heart stops mid backflip, his fond smile freezing. “Chicago? Chicago, Illinois?”

Harry nods. He clasps his hands behind his back. “Yes.”

There’s a barrage words and questions poking at Louis’s throat, pressing against his lips but he swallows them. “You got a job in Chicago? Which, I would assume, means you applied and interviewed for said job?”

Harry nods again.

“When?”

“Today.”

“Today you applied, interviewed and got the job? Wow.”

“Oh,” Harry says, understanding, “No. I applied in early February. On my birthday.”

“On your birthday,” Louis repeats, nodding like that will help make sense of anything. His heart is beating but he can’t feel it, his mind blurry and eyes dry. “You didn’t think to tell me you were looking at a job across the country?” 

“No.” 

“No.”

“Stop repeating everything I say, Lou.”

Louis rubs a hand down his face and shakes his head. “Sorry, love, hard to come up with something new to say when you’re standing here telling me you’re moving to Chicago.” 

“Not just me,” Harry says, his hands slipping apart as he takes a step forward. “Both of us. I want you to come with me.”

Louis laughs and its hollow to his ears. “What the fuck, Harry? What the actual fuck? Please tell me you’re joking.”

Harry opens his mouth and then closes it again. “I’m not joking,” he says finally. “I got a job in Chicago and I’m asking you to come with me. I don’t see where the joke would be.”

Louis laughs again and then covers his mouth with his hand as he nods, incredulous. He doesn’t know what to say except to keep laughing and pretend this is someone else’s situation to deal with. “How about the part where you applied for a job and then interviewed without telling me, and have now decided to move to Chicago, where we’ve never been-”

“You went as a kid,” Harry blurts and then goes silent when Louis raises his chin slightly.

“A city where only one of us has been,” he amends with a roll of his eyes, “and now you’re standing here asking me to go with you without ever having mentioned wanting to move or wanting a new job or any of it. All of it seems like a terrible punch line quite honestly.”

Harry tilts his head, “It’s my dream job, Louis. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Louis’s throat is heavy when he swallows. “Don't you dare say that,” he says. “Of course I’m happy for you.”

“Then come with me.”

Louis stands up now, his energy too heavy and harsh to be kept in a chair. “What about my life? What about my dream job, H? Are you proposing I just give it up and leave to go with you on a whim? You didn't even give me fair warning this was coming, babe.”

Harry swallows and there’s desperation in his face. “We’re drowning here, Louis. We fight all the time, we’re too exhausted to spend time with each other and that’s only counting for the little time we even have. I haven’t seen you since Sunday. It’s Wednesday.” 

“So we should move to Chicago,” Louis says flatly. “I don’t see how point A connects to point B.”

“Because we’re not happy,” Harry says. 

Louis can’t deny it. They’re not happy and it’s not a matter up for interpretation. The moments they’re together are usually spent sleeping, fucking or ending up in a conversation like this. Though, to be fair,neither one of them has ever threatened to move across the country before. “And you think this will change it?” 

“I think it might,” Harry says. There’s such honesty in his tone it almost hurts more than the secrecy of the entire thing. “You don’t?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is you went behind my back and got a new job and now expect us to uproot our lives for it.”

“To help us,” Harry insists like Louis is missing the point. “So we don’t end up resenting each other for half lived lives and only five hours spent together each week.”

Louis presses his fists to his eyes, “There are one hundred other ways to handle this and this isn’t it.”

“We have to do something,” Harry says, his voice loud. “Or we’re going to break up.”

“We are? News to me.”

“Don’t act like this is all brand new information. We've been in trouble for months.” 

“It’s not brand new,” Louis says, finally defeated. “You know I understand as well as you.” He’s known for too long their relationship is cracking into pieces. He just thought they took care of one crack at a time. A week of not seeing each other means a date night the next weekend. Plug one hole in a sinking ship, pray another doesn’t break open. “Grasping for straws in the middle of the ocean isn’t how we find our way, though. We can figure out something else, baby. We can work on this.” He’s scared to hear the edge of desperation in his own voice. “You don’t need to move to Chicago.”

There’s defeat in Harry’s shoulders as he meets Louis’s eyes. “I accepted the job. I starts in two weeks, and I’m giving my notice tomorrow.”

Louis hears each word like a stream starting on a muddy hill, his feet slipping out from underneath him, confusion and frustration giving way to anger.“Harry.” It’s all he can manage. 

Harry tightens his jaw like he’s in for a fight. “I’m asking you to come with me. Chicago has an excellent library system and I know you could find another job.”

“Another job? I’m in the perfect position to become the district buyer at my current job by the end of this year. You think I want to give that up for Chicago? To start all over again?” 

“For us. I want you to do it for us.” 

“No,” Louis says, surprising even himself with the quick whip of it. “Absolutely not.”

“You want me to go without you?”

“I don’t want you to fucking go,” Louis yells this time, the words exploding from his mouth. “What do you want me to say, Harry? I love you, don’t go to Chicago? There, I said it.”

Harry crosses his arms, “I’m going,” he says. “And I’m going to ask you one more time to come with me.”

“You can ask me one time or ten times or one million times and I will tell you the same thing: I’m not going. And I don’t think you should go either for what it’s worth.”

He levels his chin and takes a deep breath. “Louis, please.”

Fireworks erupt in Louis’s chest and they’re not the same as the first time he kissed Harry or the first time he knew he wanted to ask to marry him. These ones burn and make his eyes tear with the pain of fighting with the person tied to his heart with unbreakable ropes. “You’re being selfish and you’re being irrational right now. Please listen to yourself.”

“I’m trying to save us,” Harry says and Louis hears the emotion in his words. It’s a heavy tongue and a closing throat blocked by tears. 

“This isn’t how to do it,” Louis says. “Hiding things from me and ultimatums out of nowhere.” He shakes his head, “If you think that’s how relationships work, then you’re not who I thought you were.” 

Harry fish mouths and then shakes his head. “Don’t say that.” 

“I will say that,” Louis says. “And if you actually think you’re going to Chicago, I’ll tell you this, too: You’re a selfish fucking bastard.”

The last three words hit like knives to Harry’s chest; Louis knows because he sees the way his breath curves in with each one. “Fuck you,” he whispers. “All I’m trying to do is tell you that I love you. I don’t want to lose you, to lose us. I’m trying to help.”

“Then don’t go to Chicago,” Louis says. He can’t believe this is their reality right now, fighting over something he didn’t know existed until only a moment before. “We can do something else.”

Harry blinks, “I would stay in a heartbeat if I thought that would save us.” He wipes another tear and Louis wants to rewind to twenty minutes ago to kiss Harry again, to live in one more moment where they aren’t yelling at each other like this. “But even if I stay, we’re going to break.” 

“Harry,” Louis whispers, “Don’t.”

Harry runs his hand back through his hair and shrugs his shoulders, “I love you. I just don’t think it's enough anymore.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats again as Harry starts to walk away toward the bedroom. “Harry, you can’t walk away like this.” Harry moves past the bedroom and takes his jacket from the hook by the front door, slipping it on. Louis clocks the movement and crosses the floor, “Where are you going?”

“I can’t be here,” he says, defeat heavy in his voice.

“We need to talk about this.” Panic edges in Louis’s own voice, he hears it. “You can’t just fucking announce you’re moving to Chicago and then leave.”

“We’ve talked enough,” Harry says. “All we do is talk about what we can’t fix and then we sleep and then we never see each other. That’s not what I signed up for.”

“It’s not supposed to be easy. Being in love isn’t easy, being partners isn’t easy,” Louis says. “But you don’t get to run away.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, well, according to you, I’m a selfish fucking bastard. So I can do whatever I want.” He reaches for the handle of the door and there’s a pause where he looks at Louis like he’s waiting to be stopped, for him to say something.

Louis stays willfully silent, daring Harry to open the door and leave but begging in the very center of his heart for him to stay. The door knob clicks as it twists and when the door opens Louis closes his eyes and waits until it shuts again. When it finally does, he opens his eyes and he finds out the truth: Harry took the dare. He's gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**///NINE MONTHS LATER //  December///**

**>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY**

The wet pavement sparkles as the plane hovers and then lands on the tarmac. Galaxies are reflected against the darkness, the lights from the plane and the landing strip shining on the ground. The wheels smack the galaxy with a thud that jolts the passengers. Harry removes his headphones and lets them rest around his neck, Bruce Springsteen playing dully now, scarcely audible.

“Welcome to Eugene, Oregon.” The flight attendant’s voice crackles over the speakers, diluted by the sound of clicking seatbelts as people release the locks despite not being told to. “Whether you’re coming home or just visiting, we do hope you enjoy your stay. Happy Holidays.”

Harry pauses the album on his phone and switches off airplane mode. His phone vibrates with a couple of texts automatically; he doesn’t look to see who they’re from. There’s a steady queue to get off the plane, everyone bundled in their jackets and scarves as they collect their luggage and belongings from under the seats and in the overhead bins. The windows collect rain now they’ve landed, the drops slip sliding over each other in a race to the bottom.

There’s a young mom with a toddler in the row across from Harry. Her daughter is asleep on her shoulder and seems content to stay that way. Considering they just flew from Illinois to Oregon, Harry hadn’t even realized there was a toddler on board. More than he can say for the guy two rows behind him who managed to find a new topic to complain about every thirty minutes of their flight. Who, even now, is complaining about the line to get off the plane. “Let me grab your bags,” Harry says to the woman with the baby, reaching up overhead before she can. “This one?” He asks, grabbing a purple roller bag and setting it down in the aisle. He pulls up the handle and offers it to her. Stepping back in his own aisle, he lets her pass, the baby sleeping all the way.

“Merry Christmas,” she says over her shoulder, whispering so as not to disrupt her daughter. 

Harry nods and reciprocates, “Merry Christmas.”He’s not anywhere near the Christmas spirit after the way the last few months have gone but he can offer a smile to a weary mother. “Have a good one,” he says to the complaining guy behind him as he heads down the aisle to exit the plane, his bag slung over his shoulder. 

For some reason, he thought coming to Eugene would feel like a gasp of fresh air but he’s assaulted by aching memories as he traces a path through the familiar airport of the city he once called home. He passes the empty security lines and remembers all of the goodbyes and trembling kisses of his past, the whispered prayers of: _I_ _miss you already._ On the other side of the gate: baggage claim. His memories here are bursts of the happiest hellos - searching and meeting eyes across the baggage carousel, running and jumping reunions. There’s no one waiting this time, no familiar eyes hidden between the strangers. Harry takes a deep breath as the bell rings to announce the arrival of the luggage from his flight.

Once he grabs his bag, he goes outside to catch a taxi. Everywhere around him people are collecting their families or friends, kissing cheeks and sharing hugs, piling into cars with happy smiles. Christmas is just days away but Harry doesn’t feel the spirit at all. He slips in the backseat of a yellow cab and recites the address of Niall’s house by heart. As the taxi pulls away, he’s not sure he’s ever felt this alone in this city. Eugene isn’t big - minuscule compared to Chicago - but after nine solid years, it feels the most like home out of anywhere he’s ever been.

He grew up with a different city to call home every year, a new school for every grade. His dad’s job took him to new locations on a whim and Harry’s mom followed along; he and his sister were simply passengers in a whirlwind of a life. He didn’t know what it was like to keep friends for longer than a school year or to have his name carved into a tree in his backyard. The first place he ever felt like he belonged was Eugene and he didn’t show up here until he was eighteen. There was never blood family but he felt like he had roots, a connection to something bigger than himself for the first time.

His studio in Chicago still doesn’t feel like home, though he’s been there since March. It’s nothing to post on Instagram, cramped and dull with part of his stuff still packed in boxes. The truth is being a pediatric trauma nurse at the biggest hospital in Chicago doesn’t leave him time to think about his unpacked boxes, or dwell over the choices he made to bring him there. He works so hard he crashes the second he lays on his bed and then, he finds, he doesn’t have to think of a single thing until stray nightmares wake him up. There’s hardly time to think of himself when so much of his time is plagued with the deep emotional cuts of his job - all the ways he’s learning that he can’t save the world. 

This trip to Eugene wasn’t planned more than a few days in advance. Harry had nowhere else to turn so he called Niall even though it was the middle of the night on the west coast. Niall answered without a missed beat, agreed for Harry to come stay without question. “Just need to figure some things out,” Harry murmured as he stared out at the Chicago skyline, another bleak dawn when he should have been asleep. 

“Of course,” Niall said without hesitation. After a beat he asked the inevitable, “Everything okay?” 

Harry couldn’t answer truthfully but he nodded and whispered, “Yeah,” as he shut his eyes and let his head fall forward.  He knows he could have called his mom, could meet her in Australia or Mexico of wherever she is this month but he wanted to go home - even if his home is broken and unrecognizable these days. “Just a couple of weeks,” he told Niall. Even as he spoke his heart was still shaking with the memory of his last shift: another devastated parent of a patient brought to their knees by the reality of what medicine can’t save. 

“Of course,” Niall said again, so easy and without questions. “I’m going home for most of the holidays but you can stay at my place. Something familiar, yeah?“

The cab starts up the hill where Niall lives and Harry’s stomach tightens. Niall has had the same house since they met when Harry was just a freshman at University of Oregon - a house owned by Niall’s grandfather and then left to him in a will just before they graduated. Every curve of the road leading to the house is painted with memories even in the dark: summers spent by the lake behind the house and winters exploring through the snowy hills. The cab lights illuminate the path in front of the car, rain running sideways in fat drops along the windshield. Most people would say this weather is miserable but Harry is starting to think it’s the first thing that’s felt normal in months.

Niall doesn’t have neighbors so the first house they come across is his. Harry pays the cab driver and tells him to have a happy holiday before grabbing his bag and jogging up the driveway to get under the cover of the front door. There’s a gnome standing to the right of the door and he lifts it up to grab the spare key. He finds the patch of pavement beneath the porcelain figure empty. He turns it upside down to look in the hollow inside and glances around the porch for something he’s missed: nothing. He sets the gnome back down and fishes in his backpack for the key Niall had sent in the mail. He’d thought it was odd for Niall to send him a spare when the gnome has always been their spot for safekeeping but things change. Harry should understand that.

Though he wishes Niall were here, he can’t help but selfishly look forward to the silence of an empty house. He’s been taking care of other people without pause since he landed in Chicago last spring. Somewhere along the way he stopped taking care of himself. The key slips in the lock and he presses the door open. The entry light is on, a bad habit Niall has never broken. He steps out of his shoes and shuts the door again, flipping the lock. He lets his bags slip to the ground, leaves his headphones on the entryway table with his phone.

The house is larger than it should be considering it’s now owned by a twenty-eight year old elementary school teacher. The ground floor is all dark oak and ornate furniture, a chandelier they used to say could have come off the Titanic. The grand staircase remains to be the star - like something out of a fairytale. There are more memories inside the house; running up the stairs on a rainy night when the power went out, slipping and falling, hot lips against his, too desperate to wait, Niall yelling from the bottom of the dark stairs he could hear them. The memory makes Harry smile this time. Every once in awhile he’ll remember something that doesn’t hurt.

The smile bursts as he hears something drop in the kitchen, a clanging of metal against wood that makes him jolt in panic. He reaches for his phone automatically before taking a step toward where the sound came from. There’s a small hallway curving from the entryway to the kitchen, a swinging door closing the spaces from each other. As he turns the corner, he can see a kitchen light is on from beneath the door. 

Maybe it’s Niall, he reasons to calm his storming heart. Maybe he’s not actually gone for the holidays yet, maybe Harry got the dates confused. Slowly, he holds his breath and pushes the kitchen door open. The first thing he sees make him jump, a wooden spoon held out like a sword. Once his brain processes the sight in front of him, it’s less the sword that gets him than _who_ is attached to the wooden spoon.

“Harry,” the swordsmen speaks before Harry can, his voice low and steady though confusion laces each word. 

Harry’s breath catches. Every string around his heart, all the protection he spent nine months building, rips out and tears open all at once as he says, “Hi Louis.”

**>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS**

The call comes just after five, shrill in the silence of the library. Louis is in the back office where he now spends his days working on a budget for the new year, trying to get new books for the library instead of ones with torn out pages. His phone vibrating and playing a Mat Kearney song is what pulls his focus; each vibration pulling the phone closer to a death drop off the edge of the desk. The number is unknown and it means Louis nearly doesn’t answer but he grabs it at the last possible moment. “Louis Tomlinson,” he says.

“Mr. Tomlinson, this is Timothy with Capital Property Management - your leasing company.”

Louis’s eyebrows furrow - he doesn’t make a habit of having conversations with the leasing company he rents from. “Hello,” he says.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news.” Nothing good starts with being afraid and this phone call turns out to be no different. It takes only a few minutes for Timothy to explain there was a break in the main water line in the apartment complex where Louis lives. Unnoticed, water seeped through the first floor units, coming in through the walls. It took nearly an hour for the leak to be discovered and the damage was already done.“Everyone was away at work,” Timothy says like this is an explanation Louis will understand.

“And didn’t expect their apartment to flood.” Louis finishes the sentence for him and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes shutting as he collapses back against his desk chair. He doesn’t know Timothy and he doesn’t mean to be short with him, especially not a few days from Christmas but this isn’t exactly the most reasonable phone call to receive.

“No, I imagine not.”

“I imagine not,” Louis repeats quietly. This year has been utter shit from the word go, and it doesn’t seem to be planning to end any differently.He clears his throat and sits up straight. “So what do I need to do? Bring a towel?” His dry attempt at humor comes easily - his best method of deflection in times of crisis.

“No, it’s best not to come to the property, actually,” Timothy says with a terrible attempt at matching Louis’s humor. “I don’t think a towel would help much either.” He clears his throat and Louis holds his breath. “The reason I’m calling is that you’ll need to find somewhere else to stay for the foreseeable future. We’ll give you a call in the next couple of days to give you an update on the, uh, situation.”

Louis sighs, “Considering I only have one apartment, I don’t have somewhere else to stay for a couple of days.”

“We have a few hotels you can try.” Nerves seep into Timothy’s voice, “Though they may be booked full due to the holiday.”

“Less than a week from Christmas? I imagine so.”

“We do apologize. Sincerely.”

Louis takes a deep breath through his nose the way his mom taught him when he used to get frustrated as a kid. It used to be practicing the violin in seventh grade that grated on him enough to require deep breathing. Now, breaking pipes are having the same effect. “That’s very nice but not exactly helpful.” Timothy doesn’t say anything and Louis hangs up the phone without another word. The phone drops to his desk and his budget spreadsheet swims in a whirlpool on the computer screen. He reaches out to close the laptop. It’s not as though he’s going to be able to focus any longer this evening. Not with a flooded apartment suddenly at the top of his mind.

Normally, he’d be going away for the holidays; home to Seattle to see his family. This year, though, they all took off for Paris for Christmas and London for the New Year. He was invited, of course, but he turned down the invitation. He doesn’t have the money to spend or the vacation days to use - and, perhaps most of all, he just isn’t in the mood for world travel this year. His mood has been on a perpetual downhill slide for twelve months. Tonight’s developments have not changed his mind.

“Life just keeps getting better and better,” he mutters quietly as he straightens his desk, his nightly routine. As usual, he’s the last one to leave the library so no one catches him mumbling to himself like a lonely man with only a cat for company. He doesn’t even have a cat, which somehow makes him feel more pathetic.

The only bright spot on this entire year has been this job. The promotion he’d clawed after for months, Buying Director, was awarded to him in July. It was cloudy and humid when his boss told him. He remembers because as soon as he found out, he stepped out of the library to sit in his car and will away the tears he didn’t know were lurking so close to the edges of his eyes. He’d worked so impossibly hard for the opportunity, early mornings and late nights, extra hours and more effort than anyone as he tried to climb to the top. And there he was: happy but devastated at the same time. The only person who could understand what it all meant to him had left states between their hearts. 

In the parking lot tonight, a light rain starts to fall. He jogs to his car, his arms clasped around two library books. He can never go home without a book - something that was once endearing to someone he loved. Now, it seems pathetic; almost as bad as the lonely man with only a cat for company.

He briefly considers finding a hotel but the threat of spending over three hundred dollars on an uncomfortable bed makes his heart shake. Instead, he slips his phone from his pocket and calls the one person who is always there for him: It goes straight to voicemail.Louis nearly hangs up and then leaves a message anyway: “Niall, it’s me. My apartment flooded and I need somewhere to stay. I know you’re going home for the week so I’m going to use the key and stay at yours. Don’t call the police.” He hangs up and lets the silence of the car settle, the rain falling softly against the windows. He takes another deep breath and then starts to car for the familiar drive to Niall’s.

As per usual, every song on the radio scratches his heart and makes his mind wander too far down unmarked paths. He drives in silence instead; somehow it’s better than hearing people sing about love, heartbreak, sex. He knows all three well and he wants none of them tonight. He parks his car around the side of Niall’s, his usual parking spot and out of view from the street. Niall doesn’t have neighbors but Louis doesn’t need anyone poking their nose around in his business. The key is where it always is: beneath the chubby gnome near the front door. He lets himself in, the backpack he uses as a work bag slung over his shoulder.

The house is quiet and still as he flips on the light in the entryway, his throat tight. It shouldn’t be like this anymore, a house shouldn’t be able to hold so many memories within its walls. He pushes away the ghosts looming around the corners and heads up the stairs. He chooses the room closest to the staircase and tosses his backpack on the bed. Too late, he realizes the backpack is unzipped and he watches as most of his belongings fall out onto the bed and then onto the floor in a scattered mess. “Perfect,” he says with an eye roll before heading back downstairs to the kitchen.

A quick perusal over Niall’s fridge leaves Louis with the idea for pasta and he takes out the ingredients one by one, lining them up on the counter. He moves quickly, succinctly; tries not to let his mind wander toward a flooded apartment, _his_ flooded apartment.He boils water for the noodles and starts sautéing ingredients for Vodka sauce, his mind doing a terrible job of not wandering. It’s hard to keep it in line during a time of year rich with memories he’d like to forget, in a house where shared memories romp with abandon. It’s nothing specific itching tonight, just the general heartache of being in one of their shared places. Theirs. How many places in this city are theirs? Or, were theirs. Once upon a time.

Louis is getting ready to rinse his noodles in the sink when he hears the distinct sound of the front door shutting. His heart jolts into his throat and then takes off like a stampeding horse as his body freezes in place. It could be Niall - he should be in Atlanta by now but maybe Louis wasn’t listening correctly. He hasn’t been a great listener these past few months - he’s been told more than once. Now, though, his ears are sharp and attuned to even the lowest breath in his chest. There’s another thud and his wrists go limp, the strainer slipping from his grip and onto the ground; echoing like an atomic bomb in the silence. His heart racing, Louis grabs the first thing he can: a wooden spoon.

As if in slow motion, a horror movie come to life, the door from the entryway swings open slowly and Louis thinks he must have had a heart attack. If not a heart attack, something else to explain the hallucinations because suddenly there’s a ghost standing right in front of him.

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

It’s been nine months since Harry has spoken to Louis, has seen him face to face. The last time was in their apartment, close to midnight on that rainy March night. When Harry stormed from the apartment, he didn’t turn back. It had been like pulling a loose thread on a sweater, unraveling until they were only left with the pieces. He only came back to that apartment once more - in the middle of the following week when he knew Louis would be at work. He gathered everything he possibly could and left his key on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He was still angry then, angry enough he didn’t see how cruel his exit was turning out to be, how ripped and torn he was leaving something that had always been sacred to him. It didn’t matter in the end, of course. He'd boarded a flight to Chicago by the next weekend, his life packed in boxes, his heart absolutely numb. Nine months and not one call, text, or e-mail from Louis. Absolutely nothing. And now here they are: in the kitchen of their best friend’s house and separated by a wooden spoon.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, lowering the spoon slowly like Harry might attack. He looks like he’s seen a ghost and Harry can relate, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest.

His eyes are greedy, taking in Louis all at once. He looks mostly the same, though harder in some ways and softer in others. His hair is longer everywhere, scruff along his jawline too. “Could ask you the same,” he says. The surprise of seeing him doesn’t take the edge off the truth. This is the person he shared his life with; the same person who never called him after that night in March, never fought for anything they had.

“You first,” Louis says. He sets the spoon on the counter and Harry follows the motion with his eyes.

“I’m staying here for the holidays. Niall offered the place to me.”

“Fuck,” Louis whispers it under his breath and that’s just as recognizable as the line of his jaw. The way he used to curse at long essays and hard math questions, curse when he came home from work after a long day, when he knew Harry was right during a fight.

Harry crosses his arms and shifts on his feet. “Why?” He asks. “Did he tell you the same thing?” For some reason, this seems exactly like a trap Niall would set. Harry had assumed Louis would be gone for the holidays: back to Seattle to see his family. He hadn’t asked Niall - he’d assumed it was unspoken: he didn’t want to see Louis while he was here.

Louis shakes his head. “No. There’s work being done on my apartment. I needed somewhere to stay so I used the spare key from under the gnome. I sent Ni a text. He must not have gotten it.”

Explains the missing key, then. At least Harry has permission to be here; Louis broke in. “Oh,” is what he lands on.

“Yeah. Oh,” Louis repeats.

Harry takes in the scene before him again, his racing heart only slowing a quarter step. Louis is in his thick sweater and black track pants, two mismatched socks with his pants shoved inside the tops. Noticing his feet leads Harry’s eyes to the spaghetti noodles all over the floor; wet little worms in a sad pile, still steaming. The strainer they must have been in is laying next to them: metal against wood. “That’s what I heard,” he says pointing down at the mess.

“What?” Louis snaps the word and Harry swallows.

“I heard the strainer hit the floor, that’s why I came in here.”

Louis looks down at the ground where the noodle massacre lays. “I heard the door close and then shuffling around,” he says, almost defensive. “Considering Niall is supposed to be in Atlanta, I didn’t expect any guests.” 

Harry nods but he won’t apologize. His eyes graze over the wooden spoon on the counter, Louis’s weapon of choice. “And what? You were planning to protect yourself with a spoon?”

Louis glances at the spoon and then back at Harry. "Maybe."

Harry wants to laugh but can’t muster the energy. He’s tired from traveling, tired from work, tired from this whole year. “Can’t imagine what else you could have used,” he says drily with a pointed glance at the rack of knives near the coffee pot. Louis lifts his chin and pointedly looks in the opposite direction. Harry used to think this was the man he would marry. Now look at them. “Were you making pasta?” Harry asks, needing something to say and finally noticing the rest of the ingredients set out on the counter.

“Obviously.”

Harry hesitates and then pushes the words out: “Do you have enough for one more?” He recognizes the look on Louis’s face, the surprise that turns to stubbornness. 

“Seriously?” 

Harry nods. “Why not?” He’s going for nonchalant even with the slow roll of panic in his stomach. Short of turning around and running, he’s not sure what else to do. He doesn’t have anywhere else to stay and he doesn’t have to ask to know Louis probably doesn’t either.

“Why not?” Louis repeats with a laugh but there’s air in it. “Maybe because I haven’t seen or heard from you in nine months, Harry. You could have been dead for all I knew.”

Harry opens his mouth and then closes it. He’s not sure what to say. “I’m sure Niall would have told you if I died.” Louis glares at him and Harry gets the point pretty clearly: not the time for jokes. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Louis says, softening his gaze just slightly. “For what it’s worth.”

It’s the nicest thing anyone has said to Harry in months. He swallows. “So can I join you for dinner?”

Louis shrugs and it look like defeat, “Suit yourself.”

Harry clears his throat. “Right. Uh, what kind of sauce are you making?”

Louis tilts his head to the side, just slightly, when he says, “Vodka.”

For all of the walls Harry has built up in the form of nonchalance, this suddenly feels like an arrow breaching the border. Harry was the first one to make penne with vodka sauce for Louis; showing up at his off campus apartment when they’d been dating for only a month, borrowing his kitchen and making a mess as he tried to impress the first boy he’d ever thought he might love.  Needless to say, it had worked. Penne and vodka kind of became their pasta after that night - the one they made for date nights and dinner parties. It shouldn’t be hitting him this hard to find out Louis is making it on his own, though. It’s just pasta. 

Louis doesn’t wait for Harry to respond just disappears behind the counter to pick up the spilled noodles. Harry gives it a second before he joins him in the effort: crouched on the floor, picking up slippery noodles and depositing them back in the strainer to go in the garbage. 

Of all the ways Harry imagined ever seeing Louis again, this was not it. Not that Harry has wasted much time imagining reunions. Radio silence from both sides didn’t seem to leave the door open for such a thing. He had hoped there might be something left between them - though the hope was quiet at first. The day he left his key in their old apartment, he left a note on the refrigerator with the time his flight left, blindly hoping Louis might show up at the airport and come with him. He was nearly late getting through security, waiting until the last possible moment in case Louis came. He never showed. The quiet hope got pushed down as Harry got wrapped up in his new life. His twelve hour shifts lined up back to back, bouts of sleep in between. The muggy Chicago summer days and balmy, lonely nights. Somewhere between the exhaustion, he started to wish Louis would just call him. He wished until his heart ached. His quiet hope turned to desperation that Louis would just call out of the blue and say he was coming to Chicago, that their relationship meant enough. Eventually, he started to pray Louis would just call on accident, just so Harry could hear his voice again. The hope, the praying, the quiet wishing didn’t do anything. Instead, the universe was waiting for this moment to bring them back together, this tragic trick.

“You can start on the second round,” Harry says when there are just a few noodle stragglers on the ground. “I’ll finish this up.” Louis doesn’t argue, maybe happy for the distraction, as he rinses the pot in the sink and then fills it with water to boil. Harry takes intense care of the floor as his own form of distraction, keeping his head down as he finds every last noodle and then scrubs away any starchy remnants. By the time he stands up again, it’s the cleanest patch of floor in Niall’s kitchen.

Louis is busy at the stove, adding ingredients to the sauce as he waits for the water to boil. “Does Niall have anything for a salad?” Harry asks, again begging for something to do rather than staring at Louis.

Louis doesn’t even look up from where he’s sautéing onions and shallots in his saucepan. “A few things. You can look.”

Harry can't help but notice how all of these pieces of stilted conversation are familiar, things they said in their own kitchen once upon a time. The difference is they’ve never been this cold, even in their worst moments. The world is still turning, Harry tells himself as goes to the refrigerator. Louis’s world didn’t stop the moment Harry left his key on the nightstand and Harry’s didn’t stop when he got on that flight. On and on they go.

Niall has enough vegetables to make some semblance of a salad though it ends up being mostly tomatoes and bell peppers with not very much lettuce. Harry makes a vinaigrette Louis claims he invented: balsamic, red wine vinegar, oil tossed with salt and pepper. They work in silence, small talk not wanted nor attempted. There’s too many bruises here - spiky silences. The pasta doesn’t take long at all and then Louis is dividing the portions on to two plates like some alternate reality where they actually eat dinner together like this. Harry splits the salad in the same fashion. Louis grabs two forks and hands one to Harry. “Thanks,” he says quietly as he takes his plate.

The kitchen table sits along a bank of windows looking out into the forest, a giant oak table stretching long and wide. They both sit at opposite ends and once again, Harry swallows hollow laughter. This is ridiculous. Louis doesn’t seem inclined to talk, a book spread out in front of him. He must have been reading it before Harry walked in and disrupted. He used to hate the way Louis would read and cook at the same time - always nervous he’d end up burning himself because of an enticing plot. Harry doesn’t have a book handy so he plays on his phone instead. He texts Niall with a simple directive: **call me** before opening Instagram.

The pasta is good, the sauce flavorful, but the whole meal sits heavy in his stomach. Once he finishes eating, he takes his plate to the sink. He cleans his dish, the salad bowl, the pot and the pan from the sauce. At the sink he can see Louis from the corner of his eye, see the way he doesn’t turn a single page for as long as Harry is standing there. With nothing to say, Harry grabs his phone from the table and goes to take his stuff up to a guest room. He’d rather unpack twelve suitcases than deal with the dark cloud hovering over the kitchen.

He turns on the hallway light when he reaches the top of the stairs. There are two guests rooms, each decorated much like a fancy hotel in minimalist lines. Both doors are open and he immediately heads for the closest room - the other one doused in memories he’d still like to ignore - but Louis has beat him to it. His backpack is already on the bed, contents spilled out haphazardly; sweaters, phone charger, laptop, books - always so many books. Harry doesn’t dare step inside to look any closer.

Instead, he takes the slow walk to the most familiar room: the one with biggest bed, the one he and Louis used to stay in when they would stay the night at Niall’s. The light is off, the bed pristine as he steps inside. There’s no question why Louis didn’t choose this room as memories rush in with loud shoes, stomping on Harry’s heart. Inside these walls are the stains of intimacy that won’t wash out: the bed where they used to tipsily make out or sneak a blow job when they thought no one would hear. The same bed where they simply used to sleep, wrapped around each other on nights they couldn’t drive home. He throws his bag on the bed, his backpack on the floor. He’s barely unzipped the first pocket of his suitcase when his phone vibrates. The caller ID photo on the screen is too recognizable: dark hair and bright eyes, a stuck out tongue. “The man of the hour,” Harry says when he answers, “Mr. Horan.”

**>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS**

The second Harry walks out of the kitchen, Louis releases the breath aching in his lungs and lets his book close on the table. He doesn’t bother marking a page since he’d opened it somewhere random to avoid conversation. He nearly laughs. As if simply averting his eyes is capable of making Harry disappear from his life. For eight years, Harry managed to infiltrate every inch of him - starting with the very center of his body. He can stare holes in the pages of unread books but it will never make Harry disappear completely.

He still can’t wrap his head around the fact Harry is here at all - this state, this city, this _house_. He had no idea, no expectation of seeing Harry at all and definitely not like this. When he first appeared in the doorway, Louis genuinely thought he was looking at a ghost until he found his words. Harry is Harry in all the ways Louis can recognize but there’s newness there too: darker circles under his eyes, unwashed hair and turned down lips. Louis could barely string two words together in response to anything Harry said, let alone anything of actual substance. They haven’t talked in nine months, it’s not as if he knows what to say in the first place. The things he’s thought of to say don’t fit here. The less than eloquent things like: _I wish I’d never known you_ and the broken things like: I_ miss you so much it makes my ribs ache_.

Regardless of how how he feels, Louis knows he can’t stay in this house with Harry. With a sigh he grabs his phone from the kitchen island and scrolls through his contacts in hopes of finding someone he can ask for help. There are not many people he would sacrifice his pride to ask if he could stay at their place but he finds two coworkers he’d be willing to beg when it comes down to it - who wouldn’t ask too many questions, assume too many things. He starts to draft a text before he stops himself and deletes the words slowly. He can do this for one night; he can stay. Tomorrow, he’ll talk to his property manager to see when he can get back to his apartment. No point of embarrassing himself by asking for favors if he doesn’t need them. He lets his phone slip to the table next to the book. 

Vaguely, he can hear Harry moving around upstairs, shuffling things. After some internal debate, he pushes away from the table to go up there. Considering he’s the surprise guest, he should tell Harry he’ll find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. It’s partly to be polite but part of him aches to say it out loud - to tell Harry to his face he’d rather sleep anywhere else than under the same roof as him. When he steps off the stairs on the top landing he hears Harry’s voice with sporadic pauses like he’s on the phone. He pauses to listen.

“Flooded?” 

Louis sucks in a breath at the first word he hears in Harry’s voice.

“No. He didn’t tell me that.”

There’s a pause and Louis doesn’t have to wonder who it might be on the other end of the line, only one person knows about his situation: Niall. Louis swallows and presses himself against the hallway wall, straining to hear.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says. “He’s downstairs.”

Louis bites his lip, halfway between guilty and curious.

“Nothing like that,” he hears. “We had dinner together.”

Whatever Niall says makes Harry laugh and Louis feels his stomach roll like a joke at his expense. Harry may be unbothered by seeing Louis again but each passing moment pokes Louis under the ribs and he can’t take it. He closes the distance to the door of Harry’s room. Harry is facing the bed, his back to the door. Even from the doorway Louis is slapped in the face by visceral memories of this room, memories he swore he’d forgotten. Two years back, pressing Harry against those windows on a rainy night when the power went out; senior year of college, sleeping on top of the bed in their funeral suits when Niall’s grandfather died and he didn’t want to be in the house alone. Louis wants to turn and run just as Harry turns toward him like they’re two fucked up magnets. 

“Fuck,” Harry curses as he sees Louis. “I gotta go.” He hangs up the phone and lets it hang by his side. “Scared me,” he says. 

Louis swallows and crosses his arms loosely over his chest. He clears his throat. “I just wanted to say that I can leave tomorrow. I don’t have anywhere to go tonight but I can stay with a coworker while I wait for my apartment to be fixed. You can have the place to yourself.”

Harry shakes his head, “No, don’t do that. There’s plenty of room for both of us.” The quiet lingers and Louis doesn’t know what to say to end it. Harry shifts on his feet. “Niall said the apartment flooded?”

Louis nods sharply, not offering anything. 

“Is it…?” Harry trails off without asking the question. 

Louis fills in the blank, knowing what he’s asking. “It’s not the same one we had. I moved to a studio shortly after you left.” The words are clipped and quick, like ripping a band-aid.

Harry nods, his fingers twitching against his thighs. Louis tries to see if he’s surprised by the news of a new apartment but he can’t tell. If Harry only knew the whiplash Louis felt by simply walking in this room they shared only a handful of times, he’d understand why Louis had to get out of their old apartment, out of all the spaces they’d shared every day for years.

“Um, thanks for dinner,” Harry says into the lingering silence.

Louis nods once, hating the weight of the awkwardness between them. He turns and leaves as silent as he showed up. 

He’s quick when he goes downstairs for his book and phone. He rinses his dish, turns off the lights, and is up into his room with the door shut before even five minutes have passed. He falls asleep easily once he gets ready for bed and slips between the sheets. He tries to watch an episode of Friends on Netflix but doesn’t make it through the opening title sequence before he passes out. The laugh track wakes him some time later and he quickly turns off his iPad where its propped up on the other pillow next to his. Harry’s pillow, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere where unacknowledged thoughts rest when we dream. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

There’s a little girl on a stretcher and her blue eyes won’t stop looking at him. She’s not his patient but she seems to think she is by the way she stares. He tries to focus on his own patient - an eight year old boy who fell off the top of his tree house. He climbed too high and lost his footing. Harry already knows his leg is broken in multiple places even though the boy in front of him is shrieking in mind-altering tones. “Can we sedate him, please?” Harry asks, grumpier than he should be but his brain is squeezing against his head. There’s a faceless nurse across the bed, “We’re trying. It’s not working.” Harry meets the eyes of the little girl on the stretcher again, the one who isn’t his patient. No one is attending to her, she’s just sitting there in the middle of the ER, the trauma bay where the patients are received and then dispatched.

“Help me,” she says but no one else seems to hear, only Harry. 

“Please stop screaming,” he says to the boy in front of him, his head is ringing with the yelling as the other little girl repeats her plea.

“It’s not working,” the nurse across from him says again and then again. When Harry looks up, he realizes the faceless nurse is his sister, the sedation attached to the IV is a bottle of orange juice, the little boy screaming from the bed is his childhood neighbor. And when he goes to look at the little girl on the stretcher, he finds someone covering her with a sheet to indicate a dead body. 

He yells so loud it wakes him up, a full body yell originating in his chest. He opens his eyes and finds himself shaking, his body covered in sweat though he’s freezing. He’s on his back staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, he twists his neck to seek familiarity and finds it when he sees the door to the room: Niall’s house, Eugene, Christmas time, Louis. He re-orients himself and catches his breath, prays Louis didn’t hear him wake up in the throes of dream induced panic. 

The ghost of the dream is still there, vivid every time he blinks. They are recurring nightmares, his therapist tells him. Recurring because they happen two to three times a week, nightmares because they always wake him up like this - with his heart pounding, his stomach squeezing. Recurring because the storyline remains the same: he’s in the hospital trying to help a patient while another patient calls for help. Nightmare because every time it happens, he can’t help either patient. It always ends the same: waking up in a panic.

Harry learned early on at his new job that all medical staff who work in his unit are assigned weekly therapy sessions. He thought it was a job perk, a focus on mental health, until he realized the divine and inescapable necessity of the sessions. “You can’t save everyone,” his therapist told him at his first session. “You try your damn best but sometimes it’s not going to be enough.” 

Now, in the grey light of morning, thousands of miles from the hospital, the dream, nightmare, starts to fade. Harry can reason with himself when he’s awake: his sister isn’t a nurse, no one would hook orange juice to an IV, no patient is ever left without one attending nurse - especially not kids, especially not trauma. Once he settles, he gives himself time to lay and stare out the window, catch up on news and social media until the nightmare is forgotten, foreign to his memory. 

It's a slow morning by all counts. He’s forgotten what it’s like to have an actual slow morning, a morning with room to linger instead of bolting out of bed on the way to get ready for another shift. His sleeping schedule in Chicago hasn’t been healthy, he knows. When he leaves his shift at sunrise, he often finds himself walking through the city with aimless intent for hours before heading home. He’d rather be a zombie than succumb to sleeping, to the nightmares he knows are waiting for him. 

His mind drifts from his reality to the dream of slow mornings with Louis in a life that feels as close as it does foreign. There’d be mornings spent sweaty under the sheets - lips, tongues, fingers, urgency - but there were quiet mornings too, with gentle kisses, coffee in bed, sharingposts from Instagram and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.  Such a soft memory is stilted now, though; stifled by the way they spent the last three months of their relationship. There were no slow mornings - there were barely mornings they woke up together at all. There wasn’t time to lay around and talk. There wasn’t time for Harry to trace his fingertips over Louis’s cheekbones as he explained to him how he wanted to save the world. There wasn’t time for anything, least of all each other. 

Not willing to bask in this new spiral of his mind, Harry gets out of bed and stretches his arms overhead to release the tension in his spine. There’s an ensuite bathroom he uses, then he pulls on sweats and a hoodie as he ventures out of the guest room. 

It’s silent in the hallway, no light except from the foyer windows. He pauses at Louis’s room where the door is open. The bed is made and the backpack of belongings re-packed, sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. He keeps moving, down the sweeping stairs and into the kitchen. He heads right for the coffee pot, natural instinct. The warmer light is on and there’s a sticky note with familiar scrawl: 7:15. It’s the time the warmer light turned on, an old habit he and Louis shared so the other would know how fresh the coffee was. Harry resolutely doesn’t overthink the fact it has re-emerged here as he grabs a mug from the cupboard. 

He raids the other cupboards and the refrigerator to make something for breakfast. When he first started working as a nurse, he was assigned night shifts and didn’t know how to categorize his meals anymore. “Do I eat dinner before a shift? Or do I eat breakfast in the middle of the shift? What if I don’t want breakfast at three a.m. What if I want a sandwich?” He’d been pacing in severe lines and egging himself on as Louis laughed from the couch. He had interrupted Harry’s monologue with a kiss and a soft, “Don’t worry about it, darling. Eat some food and call it what you want.” After all was said and done, what to eat ended up being the least of his worries that first year. There were patients needing help in ways beyond his control, a pervasive feeling a helplessness, fruitless attempts to sleep after night shifts, trying to balance his social life with a work schedule. The worries turned to hysteria and when the tears came, Louis would hold his face between his hands, their foreheads pressed together. “You’ll get through it,” he would whisper, “I’ll be right here. Promise.”

Harry’s breakfast today ends up being oatmeal and a second cup of coffee, eaten while sitting at the big table looking over the trees behind the house and trying not to think of Louis again. The evergreens are full of life even in December, even with the cool grey skies promising rain or maybe snow.

After, Harry goes upstairs for layers, bundling up enough to venture outside, to take advantage of a less than freezing winter. In Chicago, the streets have been covered in ice and snow for weeks already. He grabs his phone and the key to the front door before he sets off down the well worn trails around the house. He tries to turn his mind off as he wanders, focus on the hard packed dirt under his feet, the quiet swaying of trees and trilling of the different birds overhead. The best thing about Oregon has always been how close to the wild every town is. Harry loves the city but he loves being able to take a dirt path through a forested area to get there. It’s was one of the things he fell in love with in Eugene.

He wanders until he finally does end up downtown, his gloved hands shoved in his pockets, beanie low over his ears. The shops glow with Christmas decor, the trees wrapped in white lights and shining even in the morning. The students from the college are already gone for winter break and what remains are people his age and older, some bustling around to the shops, others in the coffee spots that dot every corner. 

A quick glance around proves a point about small towns - everything has perpetually stayed the same while he's been away. There’s the same crooked sign outside of Melton’s - their favorite place for a quiet night and a beer. The bench outside of the organic grocery story is still carved with names and dates, many of which are now illegible. (Harry and Louis’s names are there too, carved underneath where no one can see, where they can’t get beaten away by changing seasons.) The sidewalk still seems better suited as an obstacle course and the painted lines of the street are still fading away. 

Christmas in the streets and shops awakens nostalgia from his stomach. He and Louis used to waste at least one December Saturday hunting down presents for their families for the entire day. They’d start out early and get coffee from the Laughing Bean on Alder Street and then work their way along the numbered streets, in and out of every shop. For lunch, they’d get warm chicken pot pies from the cafe on Long Avenue and then they’d split a caramel apple from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory one block from that. It was usually stressful - one of them couldn’t find at least one gift on their list - but it was always fun. Most things with Louis were. Harry remembers that most now, in the wreckage of his new life, how they used to laugh until their stomachs hurt, how Louis could make him smile over the dumbest things. 

Harry stops at one of the coffee shops to grab a drink and finds himself keeping his head down lest someone recognize him. He’s not sure why he’s doing it, even when he catches himself. The one person he would want to hide from is already sharing a house with him - no avoiding that anymore. 

With coffee in hand, he wanders next door to his favorite book store: Henry’s. The shelves are always overflowing with new and used books, the aisles cramped with people on the hunt for the next best read. Harry loves the atmosphere, the possibility. He loses the next couple of hours browsing, letting himself pick books on a whim. He hasn’t taken time to read in ages and his brain suddenly feels famished for a story as he roams. He picks up James Baldwin, Alain de Bolton, John Boyne, Joan Didion, senseless romances with hot dudes on the front covers, and on and on until his arms are full. When he pays, the cashier gives him an odd look and Harry is less concerned if he’s being judged for his trashy romance books than if the guy is recognizing him. He slides his credit card to pay as quickly as possible and leaves politely but quickly, out into the cold afternoon. 

It’s the questions Harry fears, he thinks as he starts the path back to Niall’s house. He doesn’t want anyone to ask where he’s been; doesn’t want to have to tell the truth about the mistakes he’s made. He doesn’t want to answer as to why he and Louis aren’t together anymore either. They were by no means town celebrities but in a university town with ever changing populations, the residents who stay year after year, season after season, become recognizable by the other locals. Louis has probably suffered through most of the questions already, Harry realizes now. Harry may have been the one to leave but Louis was the one who would have had to pick up the pieces. There’s a dull ache of apology in Harry’s chest but he lets it fade: Louis could have come with him and avoided it all. 

That’s the thing that has frustrated Harry time and time again, the thing that still rears its ugly head in the quiet: the fact Louis wouldn’t come with him to Chicago. He didn’t even consider it when Harry suggested it that night in March. Instead Louis had laughed, harsh and cold, asked Harry when he was planning to tell him he’d been applying for jobs out of state and keeping secrets. Harry didn’t see the point in timing when the truth was he’d gotten a job that felt like a dream and a chance to start over with the man he loved. They were in a rut they couldn’t escape and Harry found them a way out; all he was asking was Louis to come with him. The nuts and bolts of how and why didn’t matter but Louis didn’t seem capable of getting past either. “Selfish bastard,” Louis had spat at him and Harry had flipped him off, his mind eating all possible words. Even now, nine months later, and it still makes something twist in his stomach: the fight, the result.

The heater is off in Niall’s house when Harry gets back, the rooms icy cold. He turns on the fireplace while he waits for the house to warm, turning on the lights and side lamps to at least make it look like someone lives there. He sets his bag of books on the table but his eyes are too heavy to read. Instead, he lays on the couch and turns on the television, clicks right to the channels he knows. He finds a sappy romance movie, the kind he loves most, and lets that, and the warmth of the fire, lull him to a kind of nirvana. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Outside Niall’s house in the evening, Louis pauses. He’s had a whirlwind day already and going inside, knowing what - who - is waiting on the other side of the door doesn’t make anything easier. With a deep breath he gets his key from his pocket. The chill follows him inside and it’s not until he closes the door with a thud he realizes Harry is on the couch ten feet away in the front room. He hates how he knows exactly what Harry looks like when he’s been startled from sleep. It’s the exact look he has now as he sits up on the couch and blinks. 

“Hi,” he says, his voice rough enough to give him away, if him rubbing at his eye wasn’t enough. The fireplace is lit and the television is on in the corner, something Louis distinctly recognizes as either Lifetime or Hallmark. Harry’s eyes drop from Louis’s scarf down his black wool coat before meeting his eyes again. “I thought you’d still be at work.”

“Had the day off,” Louis says, stepping out of his shoes and stacking them neatly by the door. Unexpectedly took the day off more like. “I had to go to my apartment management office,” he says.

“Oh.”He swallows and Louis wants to cringe. They’re almost strangers like this. “Any news?”

Louis snorts but there’s no happiness in the sound. “I haven’t gotten to go back into my place yet to see what happened but the main water line broke. It was the middle of the day so not many people were there and by the time it got to someone who was, a lot of the units were already ruined.” He sniffs and shoves his hands in his pockets, “Or that’s what they told me.”

“Shit,” Harry breathes. “How did you get like, your clothes and stuff?” 

Louis blinks at him. He’s not sure that’s the most pressing question at hand or maybe Harry is just trying to be polite. “I had some clothes in my car,” He says. Then, “And I have a few things left here from when I stayed with Niall.”

“When did you stay with Niall?” There’s genuine surprise in Harry’s voice; Louis hears it clearly. Good to know Niall keeps his promises; Louis had begged him not to tell. 

“After, you know,” Louis meets Harry’s eyes right on, dares him to look away. “After.” After. After Harry cut the strings and fled, took home and ran, left Louis with all the pieces of a broken life.

That must be a good enough explanation for Harry. “Oh. Right,” he says.

It’s a sour note, the ultimate sour note, and they aren’t getting over it despite the circumstances. “I’m going to go call my insurance company,” Louis says without looking at Harry and heading for the stairs. He’s not sure if Harry says anything else or not. 

He feels like he drags himself up the stairs to his borrowed room, feet stuck in cinder blocks. He’s tired and it seems to be bone deep these days, not cured by sleep or alcohol though he’s tried both. The promotion is still only a few months old and mixed with the unexpected ex, the cold weather - all of it is a lot; too much maybe. It’s not like the flooding has helped anything. Meeting with the leasing manager today was exhausting even with a simple conversation. No, he couldn’t see anything in the apartment; no, there was nothing he could do; no, they weren’t sure when he would be able to see the apartment or find him a new one. Louis would have been better slamming his head against a brick wall for all the answers he got today. 

He shuts the door to his room in one motion and then crosses to the bed. He flops down face first but stands after only a moment, too anxious to lay still. He starts to pace in front of the window, darkness staring back at him even though it’s barely evening. It’s a brutal parallel to all the nights he used to spend doing this exact thing in this very room, right after Harry left.  It’s still hard to articulate the particular ache in his chest the night he came home from work to find Harry’s key on the nightstand. Harry hadn’t been sleeping at the apartment after the fight and this was the ultimate end: sneaking in while he knew Louis was gone to leave his key. For some reason Louis had thought there might be a chance to talk, one last fight before Harry left, but the key was a stark nail in the coffin.

Louis couldn’t stay in their apartment alone and he knew it immediately. Memories crawled along the walls, slept under the floorboards. He couldn’t even unlock the front door without remembering Harry trying to unlock it two months prior when he had to pee so bad he couldn’t focus, yelling at Louis who was nearly brought to his knees with laughter.  Niall must have known the way he felt - or maybe he just assumed. He offered Louis a place to stay and never asked too many questions, merely nodded when Louis said, “Don’t tell him I’m here”. He didn’t sleep much even away from the apartment; instead he paced in front of this bedroom window. His mind pulsed with all the things he didn’t do, all the things he should have done. He went through the stages of grief looking out the same window he’s looking at now. He thought he was past it but it turns out ghosts are real and his is still haunting him. 

Later when he gets in bed, finally sleepy, his mind still won’t settle. Instead, it rewinds to things he hasn’t thought about it in ages. Like how when he first knew he was gay, it came as an understanding instead of an epiphany. He didn’t have the gray area of thinking he liked girls first nor did he make himself try. Truly, it was nothing more than waking up around the age of fifteen and knowing the way the sky was blue and the grass was green that he liked boys. Saying it, being it, was easier said than done. Louis hated trying to figure out if boys in his high school were the same as him, or maybe curious about being the same. He spent four years prowling around looking for the right sign, waiting for the right time.  He used to have ridiculous dreams about falling in love, being co-prom kings with a gorgeous boy who would fall madly in love with him. He wanted someone to kiss him after soccer practice or skip classes with him, he wanted to break his curfew on Friday nights and lose hours to text messages early in the morning. It wasn’t in the cards for him, though. Graduation came and went and he was just a gay virgin with a perfect GPA. 

Then came college. A different universe, a vastly different plane of existence. Suddenly everyone seemed curious about something - making out with a boy at a party wasn’t a crowning achievement and his first blow job in his dorm room was more of a casual Tuesday than an exclamation. No one seemed to be looking for love or a soul mate - just a quick kiss and maybe an orgasm. Louis loved it his first year, drowned in the newness, in the amount of guys who wanted him not just because he was the only gay boy they knew but because they liked his eyes, hair, style, ass, whatever other compliment they gave him before they gave him a drink, asked him to dance.

The end of his freshman year was when he met Dawn - a guy a year older who smoked cigarettes out the window of his apartment and scribbled in his journal like he had a secret. He seemed perpetually displeased at the world but, for some reason, not when he looked at Louis. Or, so Louis thought. He fell hard, fell too fast, fell face first. There was no one to catch him in the end. There were just Dawn’s cold words on a hot night: “Wait, you think I’m gay?”. Louis had given Dawn every piece of him, his virginity and his heart, for an entire summer on an empty campus and the crash to the ground was the irreparable kind. The kind that made Louis wrap his heart up tight and run away from kissing pretty boys in favor of waiting for the one he used to dream about: his king, Prince Charming, whatever. The boy who would kiss him between classes, and listen to his jokes at midnight.

He met Harry and it was October; he was nineteen and a sophomore, Harry was just eighteen and a freshman. They met through a mutual friend: Niall. At a house party where they ended up ditching Niall for each other, they stood in the kitchen with sweet red punch talking about absolutely nothing for over an hour. Louis knew then, in the dim light of a dirty kitchen, Harry was who he’d been waiting for. He was star struck and in love by the end of the night as Harry left to go back to his dorm.  Louis still remembers that walk home to his apartment that night; the way he kept his eyes up on the cloudless sky, praying for a shooting star and then making a wish on an airplane instead. _Let him be the one_, he whispered to absolutely no one but the entire universe. _Let him be mine._

He waited the obligatory two days after the party before texting Harry but he didn’t hear back from him. He sacrificed his pride and double texted the next day. Still, he got nothing. Heartbreak wasn’t big enough to cover the feeling welling under his heart in the following weeks that passed. He was used to disappointment but he’d gotten his hopes up so high. He’d let himself dream too much after meeting this quietly confident boy who talked about saving the world, who blushed deeply when he made Louis laugh. 

Niall didn’t have any answers for Louis when pressed, simply told him Harry would come around, if he wanted to. Louis tried to respect that, he did, even as he looked for Harry’s face everywhere on campus, in every busy crowd.  It took two months for Louis to see him again, at another off campus party after the holidays. He greeted Louis like there had been no weird, one-sided history between them and Louis tried to let it go. Maybe he’d read the situation wrong, maybe Harry just wanted to be friends - maybe this was the universe’s plan all along. He spent that night talking to other people, getting tipsy off yet another fruit punch with too much sugar and just enough vodka. 

Toward the end of the night, Harry was glancing over to Louis so often his head seemed to bobble. Louis’s fruit punch confidence and Harry’s slick red lips got him across the room. He leaned against the wall next to Harry, met his eyes and said: “Why do you keep looking at me?” His grand opening line, the one he never forgot.

“Wasn’t looking at you,” Harry said, his voice sure and slow. 

Louis bit his lip, looked at Harry from underneath his eyelashes, played coy when he said, “Do you want me to go away, then?” It worked. Harry swallowed, his cheeks went pink and he shook his head. Their conversation twirled on from there, light and teasing like the first night all over again, their sarcasm a perfect match. As the party died down, Louis had to take his chance, had to ask. “Why didn’t you text me back last time? I thought we kind of got along?” 

Harry licked his lips and met Louis’s eyes right on. It was like looking into oncoming headlights on a dark highway. So bright and open, sparkling with something unspoken. “I wasn’t sure.”

“What do you mean you weren’t sure?” Louis asked, incredulous. “I sent you like ten texts in a row. That’s super embarrassing. You think I do that with everyone I meet?”

Harry’s headlights for eyes gave him away, the darkening when he said, “I don’t know. Maybe.” Louis’s heart softened, the vulnerability in Harry’s voice, the open honesty. “I know college is a time to experiment,” Harry continued and Louis could read everything just in his voice. “I don’t really want to be an experiment.”

In a flash, Louis remembered the feeling of laying in Dawn’s bed when he laughed at the idea they were dating, made Louis feel like a fool. Louis knew almost nothing about Harry, about what his life had been like, but he knew right then never wanted him to feel the way Louis had. He took a deep breath and summoned all the sobriety he had to say, “Harry, believe me when I tell you, you’re the only person I’ve thought about since that night we met. I don’t play games, and I don’t tell lies. Pinky promise.”  They linked pinkies and that was that; Harry’s shy smile turned to texting all night and into the morning, coffee on campus and then studying in the library. Louis found his Prince Charming, his king, his better half, and vowed to never let go.

Years later when they moved in together, they’d pinky promise on everything worth anything. “Pinky promise you’ll pick up detergent tonight,” Louis would sayon his way out of the apartment. “Pinky promise you’ll make it in time for dinner,” Harry would say over the phone on their lunch break. “Pinky promise you’ll love me forever,” Louis whispered against his neck the first night they were in their brand new apartment. Linked pinkies and promises: they tried not to break them. 

It turns out, they did anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

The next couple of days seem to go like the first. Louis is gone when Harry gets up but the coffee pot is left on. Harry mostly naps or reads, watches a few romance movies. He revels in getting to do the things he's forgotten to make time for. He even watches the local news just to catch up on life in Eugene and hear about the latest snow storm heading their way. Each night, Louis shows up and goes straight up the stairs to his room without a word and Harry lets him. Part of Harry wants to talk but he doesn’t know how to start, how to avoid the elephant in every room. They aren’t here together by choice but he hates the way they orbit each other. 

In some ways, it feels like the same way things ended with them: going in circles. When it first started happening to them at the end of last year, Harry didn't recognize something was wrong. He didn't know that they were losing each other. The circles weren't as painful or obtrusive in the way he imagined falling apart would feel. The only times they seemed to have substantial conversations in the end were arguments. They were always mundane arguments; fighting over forgotten groceries and not enough gas in the car. Harry left wet laundry in the washing machine for an entire day and Louis acted like he’d slept with someone else. It's not that Harry was any better - losing his temper when he couldn’t find the remote to the television because Louis had lost it in the cushions. If he could take it all back now, he would. He knows that now - the last nine months have taught him that. The problem, always the problem, is it’s too damn late.

On his third day in Eugene, Harry gets inspired by the Food Network and decides to use his free time to try his hand at something he used to love: cooking. It was one of his favorite things to do before he left, not that he was necessarily good at it. He and Louis made a point to watch cooking shows when they were stressed, cuddling on the couch and noting recipes they wanted to try. When stress felt like it was folding them in half, they had each other and Ina Garten and somehow that was enough. Until, of course, it wasn’t anymore.

Harry looks up a recipe for twice baked macaroni and then sets out to the grocery store for ingredients, determination settling in his mind. He starts out bumpy when he gets down to actually making it - spilling over measuring cups and burning the milk for the sauce so he has to start over. Then, he builds a rhythm - a steady one, checking the recipe more than once. The kitchen is warm and his cheeks are flushed by the time he finishes, the aroma of cheese pressing to every corner of the house. Accomplished is precisely the word he thinks of when he pulls the dish from the oven for the last time, a dark crust of cheese bubbling at the top.

Simultaneous with setting the dish on the counter, he hears the front door close, Louis wordlessly announcing his presence. He’s surprised when Louis actually walks into the kitchen instead of immediately up the stairs. He glances briefly in Harry’s direction before he goes to the refrigerator. If he’s surprised to see Harry, surprised by his cooking, he certainly doesn’t show it. 

As Louis sifts through the refrigerator, Harry gets two bowls from the cupboard, filling both with heaping servings of mac and cheese. He nestles a fork in each and when he looks up again he finds Louis is looking right at him, eyes shifting between the bowls and back to Harry’s face. Harry meets his eyes right on . “For you,” he says, pushing the bowl a couple of inches across the counter. Louis doesn’t move and Harry finally looks away. His cheeks warm with embarrassment at the rejection. He doesn’t look up again as he takes his own serving to the couch to watch another Hallmark Christmas movie. 

After he eats, he ends up falling asleep in the middle of a movie about a girl who owns a stationary shop and a divorcee trying to send Christmas cards. He wakes up in time for the grand finale, a kiss, but his body is sore from the couch, the lights disorienting against the darkness out the windows. He closes the curtains and takes his empty bowl back to the kitchen.The lights are off except for the one over the sink. Right away, Harry sees Louis’s bowl on the drying rack. He’s not sure if Louis ate his portion or threw it in the garbage but he doesn’t want to care. He rinses his bowl and sets it next to Louis’s as he realizes the pan with leftovers is no longer on the stove. He actually starts to get mad, assuming Louis has thrown the whole thing out, until he opens the refrigerator and finds the pan inside, covered to keep it fresh. And then he doesn’t know how to feel.

Upstairs, he brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed slowly. He wonders about Louis, one room away and hopefully asleep. Surely they can’t keep going like this - being in constant close contact and refusing to say anything that matters. It will just be a bit longer, he tells himself. He needs to make a decision and then he’ll be gone - that, or Louis’s apartment will be fixed first. Either way, some way, they’ll be put out of this misery soon enough. As he tries to fall asleep, there’s the lingering fear of another nightmare like the first night and the fear manages to keep him up an extra two hours, praying for his demons to stay at bay. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

The fourth day of Louis’s flooded apartment drama is thankfully a Saturday and he lets himself sleep in though it only ends up being past six a.m. before he’s wide awake. Oddly, the first thing he thinks of, is Harry’s peace offering of macaroni from the night before.

He’d walked into the kitchen last night because he was hungry, not anticipating Harry to be in there too. He should have been able to smell his presence via the macaroni but he hadn’t even paid attention. The second he’d spotted Harry at the stove with oven mits over his hands, he wanted to turn and run away. It was a scene turned over from a previous life and swatting him right upside the head and heart without warning. How many times had he walked in their apartment to see Harry like that with an apron or oven mitts on, flour in his hair?

The Harry of his memories used to offer heaping bites of whatever he’d made or a story about all the things he did wrong in the recipe. The Harry from last night simply glanced at Louis and looked away again. For Louis’s part, he’d scurried to the fridge eager to hide his face lest the pain of cold memories show in his eyes. Then Harry had procured a bowl of macaroni and looked right in Louis’s eyes when he said, “For you,” like it was nothing. Louis knows he stood like a demented statue until Harry left the kitchen; he’s never been good at being caught off guard. He isn’t proud of how quickly he ate the pasta but he can’t remember the last time someone made him a meal and, to be fair, he was starving.

In the cold light of this morning, though, there are nerves in his stomach. He’s not sure what macaroni means, what it changes - whether it means or changes anything at all. He’s not even sure what there is to change, what there is to say between them now. On one hand, the pain is heavy edges and awkward, a history they shouldn’t repeat. On the other hand, Harry was Louis’s best friend, confidant and lover, for eight years. Surely they should be able to pay homage to that without lunging at each other’s throats. 

Regardless, he needs a cup of coffee before he finds out what macaroni means. 

Like every other morning, Harry’s bedroom door is firmly closed when Louis emerges. Like every other morning, Louis has to keep his brain from imagining the picture behind the door, though he knows it well: Harry, asleep on his stomach, a pool of drool under the corner of mouth, the sheets absolutely massacred like an anxious whale has been sleeping in the bed. 

Downstairs, Louis makes the coffee and rummages in the fridge for the eggs and bread he bought from the store a couple of days ago. He gets frozen sausage from the freezer and cinnamon from the cupboard and makes some semblance of French toast with sausage on the side. He’s quite proud of it when it’s finished, the smell of coffee warming the kitchen. He doesn’t do much cooking now, mostly relying on take out or quick meals, but french toast is a recent specialty. It came to him on a morning he missed Harry and his old life so badly his heart itched. He did what he’s become good at and distracted himself with a swirled French toast recipe. Not so bad a vice compared to others.

He’s just pouring a cup of coffee when Harry shuffles in. “Good morning,” he says, voice dull from sleeping. 

Louis very nearly dumps the entire pot of coffee down his front in surprise at the casual greeting. “Morning,” he says, carefully putting the coffee pot back in the holder. He tries not to let the surprise of Harry standing there show. He just didn’t expect him to actually come into the kitchen when they’ve been running around each other like skittish cats. Last night was supposed to be a fluke in the system and yet here they are again: meeting in the kitchen. 

“Smells good,” Harry comments as Louis takes his coffee back to the kitchen island. He has his plate set up next to a back issue of The New Yorker he found in the living room. 

“French toast with cinnamon,” he says like he’s Bobbie Flay presenting his dish. Harry can surely tell what it is without the explanation. 

The air feels heavy as Louis sits down, only the sound of Harry getting a mug and filling it with coffee as Louis’s fork clinks against his plate. He wishes he would have put on music or a podcast, something to drown out the beating of his heart. Slowly, he cuts a square off of his breakfast, ears perked for when Harry leaves so he can breathe again. He hears socks on the wood floor and thinks he’s finally going when suddenly Harry’s standing at the stove, right in front of him. 

Like he could care less, Louis takes a bite of his breakfast and opens his magazine even as he can sense Harry staring right at him. Harry clears his throat and Louis devoutly doesn’t look up from where his eyes swim over a printed advertisement. The words don’t stay still and he feels his heartbeat in the back of his throat, unsure what Harry will say.

“Do you mind if I borrow your stuff and make me some?”

If you asked Louis to list one-hundred different things Harry might have said in that moment, “Fuck you,” would have been near the top, “I’m staying somewhere else,” would have been in the top ten and asking to borrow Louis's groceries to make French toast would never have made the list. 

Louis looks up so fast his neck cricks. “Yeah, sure.” Harry blinks and then looks down at where the supplies are all lined up. Louis smirks despite himself, “Do you know the recipe?”

Harry shakes his head. “Mom used to make it when we were kids but I never learned how.”

“It’s pretty easy.” Louis doesn’t know how far they can go with this cordial conversation. He feels as though they walk on ice when they talk now and, though French toast seems safe, Louis doesn’t want them to slip. “I can walk you through it.”There’s an odd twist in Louis’s stomach, the butterflies at it again. This is another twisted scene from a different life and it aches. 

“I don’t want to stop you from eating,” Harry says quietly as he turns on the stove. 

Louis has no choice but to stop him, ache or not. “Okay, well you’re doing it all wrong already,” he says. Harry looks up, confused with slight hurt at the edges of his eyes, and Louis smiles at him - maybe the first genuine smile in the nine months since Harry left and the four days since he’s been back. “Don’t warm the pan up yet. You have to make the batter first.”

Harry nods and turns off the stove. “Oops.”

Louis is still smiling at him and quickly lets the grin fall from his face before it gets weird. “So first, crack the eggs in the dish,” he says, pointing. Harry nods again and slides the dish over, opening the crate of eggs. Louis walks him through the steps, whisking the egg and adding vanilla and cinnamon to the mix. Dipping the bread inside and making sure it gets covered even when it seems like it might get soggy. “And then you put it in the pan,” Louis says. He takes another bite of his own breakfast; he’s been steadily eating while being a teacher. 

Harry has been following his directions diligently but here, looks up. “How?”

“Just lift it up and set it in there.”

“Won’t it drip?”

“Maybe. Usually if you go fast, it won’t.”

Harry studies the gap between the stove and his eggy mixture. “Yours didn’t.”

“I’ve had practice,” he says. “The first time I did this, I dripped it on the counter and the floors. I even found some under the cupboard.” Harry does that terrible half smile Louis once loved, where his dimple curves in, and then the piece of bread is in the air and landing softly in the pan: no drips. “Nice,” Louis says as Harry turns on the stove again. 

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly. He puts in his other two slices just as cleanly before he washes the mixture off his hands at the sink. 

The silence lapses again as they wait for the bread to cook. It’s not a perfect science so Louis tells Harry when to lift the edge and check, then when to flip each piece so they are golden on both sides. Cooking takes less than five minutes and then Harry is stacking his breakfast on a plate and Louis is smiling again. “Looks better than mine,” he says, motioning at his plate though all that is left is a couple bites. He watches as Harry adds butter and syrup before he realizes he’s staring. 

“What are you doing today?” Harry asks right when Louis takes a bite. 

Louis chews quickly and nearly chokes trying to swallow. Harry’s been full of surprises since last night and for some reason Louis keeps falling one step behind. “Nothing much. Kind of planning a lazy day.”

Harry nods, “Same.”

Quiet comes creeping in and Louis doesn’t know what to say again so he stands and washes his dish, folds the New Yorker he hasn’t even read yet and tucks it under his arm. “Enjoy your breakfast,” he tells Harry as he pours himself a second cup of coffee. He needs to get out of the kitchen immediately before the awkward tension chokes him.

Harry looks up and meets Louis’s eyes in a way that is so reminiscent of the first time they met, like looking into headlights. “Thanks for showing me how,” he says. 

Louis nods, his throat tight for no particular reason. It doesn’t matter if he’s still this affected by Harry, he should have expected it anyway. “Anytime, H.” He leaves the kitchen without looking back, wondering, not for the first time, when their train went off the tracks, how they ended up exchanging pleasantries and cold thanks over toast.

He settles into one of the big chairs by the fireplace in the living room, his heart taking up a normal pace finally. He doesn’t know what a future looks like for him and Harry; quite honestly, he’s never thought of having one before. He’s not sure they could even be friends after everything they’ve gone through, after the ways they hurt each other. More, he’s not sure they should be friends either, regardless of the ability.

He sets his mug on the side table and opens the magazine for the second time, turning to The Talk About Town feature which is always his favorite. He starts reading and this time, thankfully and without Harry’s eyes on him, the words stay in place on the page. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

After his french toast breakfast, Saturday melts away. He spends the majority of the day on his bed - a steady mix of reading or watching Netflix movies that all seem to have the same plot. He eats popcorn for lunch and takes a nap in the middle of the afternoon just because he can. He thinks he deserves it after the sleepless night before.

For the first time, he had back to back nightmares. The second one woke him up shaking, his heart pounding. It had been too real this time, involving actual patients he’s had, families yelling at him whom he’s met before.  He’d gotten out of bed with a sick feeling in his stomach, desperate to get out of the bedroom. The relief in his chest was automatic upon walking in the kitchen to see Louis this morning, the achy cold of his nightmare fading. He knew Louis was hoping for him to leave the kitchen but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t be alone. Instead, he pressed until he stuck, making Louis coach him through the simple steps of making french toast. 

The wind outside gets progressively worse throughout the day, howling as it rattles the windows. The house is warm and cozy as Harry says a brief prayer for snow. Snow in Chicago is mundane, part of the every day weather cycle. In Eugene, it has the power to stop the entire city, slow time down. There’s magic in snow here, and he thinks he could use some of that. 

In the evening, he ends up on Pinterest looking for more recipes of comfort food, things perfect for cold weather. Chicken pot pie is what snags his eye and he quickly types the ingredients into the notes section of his phone as a list for the grocery store. In the entry way he pulls on his puffy jacket and zips it right up to his neck. He puts on a pair of running shoes and when he stands upright again, he finds Louis looking right at him. Louis is in the same position Harry was the other night - laying on the couch looking sleepy, eyes blinking slowly.Harry doesn’t even startle at the surprise of his gaze, like his body is still attuned to knowing where he lingers. 

“I’m in the mood for chicken pot pie,” he says when Louis stays quiet. “I’m going to run to the store to grab the ingredients. Do you want in?” Harry expects a polite, “No thanks,” like they’re still just strangers sharing a house but he doesn’t get it. 

“That sounds awesome, actually,” Louis says. “Will you let me pay for half?”

Harry tries not to let his mouth drop open. Partly, because he hasn’t gotten used to hearing Louis’s voice again and every time they speak, it takes a moment for his head to catch up to this reality. Mostly, because he didn’t expect Louis to agree to participate. Harry shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. “If you want. I’m going to make it anyway.” He leaves before Louis can respond, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach again. Too many ghosts.

*

The small town feeling of belonging somewhere for nine years, hits him again in the grocery story when he realizes the cashier whose line he’s in has been working here since he first started college. It’s too late to change lanes so he reaches in his memory for her name but it doesn’t come and then he’s next, smiling as she clearly recognizes him.  “Mr. Styles,” she says, eyes bright. 

He doesn’t want to risk a glance down at her name tag so he goes for warmth instead of intimate familiarity. “Hi there. How have you been?”

“Oh, good, good,” she says. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

Harry nods, unsure what to say besides, “Yeah, I haven’t been in.” He doesn’t know if he needs to dump his whole nine month saga at her feet while she rings up his vegetables. 

“You’ve been sending Louis to do all the shopping? I see how it is.” She winks and Harry wants to choke. “I tease him about it,” she says. “Hopefully he doesn’t take it too hard.”

Harry nods, his tongue too thick to form words. Louis clearly hasn’t told her Harry left. “No, no he doesn’t,” he manages to stutter as he steps toward the card machine to pay.

“I always ask him how you are, with all the nursing stuff. God, I remember you guys coming in here years ago for pints of ice cream at midnight and then bottles of wine when you were older. Feel like I watched you grow up together.”

Harry jams his finger into the green key on keypad to accept the total being charged to his card. He can’t believe Louis has suffered through these assumptions and memories just to go to the grocery store. He says something vague about being in a hurry and she laughs as she shoos him away with his bags, his credit card and receipt jammed in one of his pockets. His heart is thundering when he leaves the store, his own fake laughter ringing in his ears. All he can wonder is what Louis says whenever he’s asked how Harry is doing. 

Back at the house, there’s music playing softly in the kitchen but Harry barely makes it inside without tripping, juggling the shopping bags while trying to unlock the front door. Louis saves him, grabbing one of the bags just before it falls. Their arms get tangled and Louis noticeably flinches at Harry’s fingers on his arm, maybe the coldness or maybe something else. He turns back toward the kitchen as Harry pulls his hand away, “Go take off your coat. I’ll knock the heater up a bit more.” Harry nods and takes off his shoes, hangs his jacket by the door. He rubs his hands together as he goes in the kitchen to get started cooking. He finds Louis at the counter humming quietly and unpacking the shopping bags. 

“Sorry,” he says when he finds Harry watching, “Do you mind if I help with dinner? I’ll feel bad waiting around in the other room.”

Harry nods, pulling the sleeves up on his sweater to wash his hands. “Uh, sure.” He’s not sure what alternate universe they’ve entered but meals, food, seem to be the one thing they can handle together.

Louis starts in on lining the crust in the pan as Harry chops the vegetables to be sautéed. They work in quiet tandem like the first night with perhaps a few more glances thrown at each other, passing commentary about nothing important.  Harry bought a pre-roasted chicken instead of frozen and Louis say he’ll start the process of shredding the meat as he takes the chicken from the paper bag. Louis seems to pause when he notices two bottles of wine in the same bag. Harry had picked them up because he likes wine with home cooked meals, and for sustenance should a snow storm actually hit. 

“Those for us?” Louis asks. 

Harry is suddenly embarrassed at the purchase but tries to hide it. “No one else here, is there?”

Louis smiles, “You don’t know that. It’s a big house.” Without further comment though, he opens the wine and pours two glasses, offering one to Harry as he continues to cook. “Cheers,” he says as Harry starts to take a sip. 

Harry raises his eyebrows as he brings the glass away from his mouth to knock against Louis’s in the tradition of a cheers. An alternate reality indeed. “Cheers,” he says. The wine is a dark red and it tastes perfect on such a cold night with the sounds of dinner starting and Norah Jones crooning behind them. Harry gives himself a moment of quietly chopping and sautéing before he has to ask. “Cheers to anything particular?”

“Toasting to good wine and good chicken pot pie, I guess,” Louis says without looking at him. “I didn’t know you even knew how to make it,” he says.

Harry pauses, “Chicken pot pie?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t,” he says, smirking. “I just thought it sounded good.”

“Going in blind, then?”

Harry holds up his phone where the recipe is. “I have a little guidance.”

“Ah, cheat sheet.” Louis laughs and Harry feels it in his stomach.

Once the chicken is shredded, its stirred in with the vegetables, chicken broth and milk and then poured in the pie crust.

“How’s Chicago?” 

Harry looks up from where he’s laying the second dough crust over the edges to cover the pie. He’s on his second glass of wine so Louis must be too, bravery getting the better of him. Harry swallows and looks back at his hands as he crimps the dough with his fingers. “Good.” He answers too quickly and he knows it. He doesn’t want to admit the truth - the one he barely admits to himself: the stress and regrets he still has. “I’m really enjoying it,” he adds, slower like that will hide the lie.

“That’s good.” Louis pauses long enough, Harry stills his busy hands to look over to see if he’s done talking. “I saw the piece in the Chicago Tribune.” 

Harry isn’t able to conceal the surprise on his face this time. He certainly hadn’t expected to be on the front page of a newspaper - didn’t even realize he was until Gemma text him about it because he was trending on Twitter as the “hot nurse”. He definitely didn’t expect the picture to make it back to Eugene.

It had been August and there was a car accident just outside the hospital, all hands on deck for severe trauma. Harry was the last one to the call and came outside as gurneys rushed by him in the opposite direction. “No more patients,” one of the nurses yelled as she flew by. “But grab the kid.” That was when Harry noticed a little girl on the sidewalk, rolling tears, her dress crumpled. He scooped her up as he headed inside, shushing her and praying she wouldn’t remember everything she’d already seen. That’s the picture that ended up in the paper: a girl in a wrinkled dress clinging to a male nurse, cars wrecked in the background.

“Really?” is what he settles on saying to Louis now. 

“Niall sent it to me,” Louis says, breaking eye contact. 

Harry opens his mouth and then closes it. He didn’t realize Niall had shared it and he can’t decide if he’s upset about it or not. “I think this is ready,” he says, abruptly changing in topic before Louis can say anything else.

“Cool. Oven is heated too,” Louis says, taking the saucepan to the sink and turning on the water to rinse it.

Carefully, Harry puts the pie in the oven to bake, setting the timer for just over thirty minutes. “Now we wait,” he says.

Louis helps Harry with the rest of the dishes and refreshes their glasses of wine, emptying the bottle. Belatedly, he realizes he didn’t reciprocate any of Louis’s questions.“How’s the library?” He asks now, the question sounding both lame and late to his own ears. 

“Stressful,” Louis says. There’s plain honesty there - something Louis has always been good at where Harry has struggled. “I got the promotion to buyer this summer and it’s been a transition.”

Harry nods even though he knew; Niall told him that. “Niall told me,” he says for no other reason than to prove he knows secrets too. It sounds absolutely dumb out loud. “Congratulations, I mean,” he says.”I’m really proud of you, I know how hard you worked for it.”

Clearly Louis doesn’t expect the last bit, his cheeks going the dustiest shade of pink. “Uh, thanks,” he says, turning away and fiddling with something Harry can’t see though he suspects its just a distraction.

“Are you still enjoying it?” Louis asks the question while Harry is cleaning off the counter, while Louis is setting plates on the table. “Nursing, I mean.”

This time Harry is the one to freeze, heart pressing hard and fast against his chest. This a reminder of the rotted roots of their relationship when they finally acknowledged them: the stress of their work lives folding in on the way they treated each other. Harry’s stress was a direct correlation to his job, Louis’s was the anxiety of figuring out how to climb the ranks.  “There are good and bad days,” Harry says. “Like with anything else, I guess.” He tilts his wine glass away from him until wine nearly comes over the opposite edge and then straightens it. “I started journaling like we had talked about.”

Louis doesn’t meet his eyes when he says, “That’s great, H.” 

It was toward the end before he left, when they were fighting to keep from shattering. Harry felt guilty for talking about the miserable aspects of his job - the deaths he couldn’t help, the abuse cases that broke his heart. He didn’t want Louis to carry the weight even though Louis always offered to listen. In turn, Louis hated watching Harry go through it - the struggle of what things to say and which to keep to himself. Too many nights Harry would stare at the ceiling and Louis would wake up to see it, staring at the side of his head in the quiet. 

Louis had looked around online for advice and a nurse in Tennessee said journaling was helpful for when things were too heavy for family. Writing out the bad things and how terrible it was as a way to get it out in the world. “So we’re not having conversations anymore, is that what you’re getting at?” had been Harry’s snapped response when Louis showed him the article. Louis’s harsh and frustrated, “Sounds fine by me,” haunted him even after they both stormed away. They were fighting to keep from shattering but they already had fault lines they couldn’t see. 

“It’s been helpful,” Harry says. He doesn’t want to tell Lous about the therapy too, about the horror in every one of his days, about the real reason he’s back in Eugene.

They both go quiet for a bit as they finish straightening the kitchen and cleaning off the counters. “Have you heard anything on your apartment?” Harry asks, claiming a place at the table by setting his wine glass down near it.

“Not yet. One of the guys who lives in my hall got back in his this morning. He said it was worse than he imagined it would be.”

“Maybe he had high expectations?” 

“I’m hoping,” Louis says. “My expectation is that everything is ruined beyond repair so anything better than that will be a miracle. I don’t think I have anything irreplaceable in there, I don't think."

“I wish I knew what to say,” Harry says, keeping it honest. “Other than I wish it hadn’t happened. I hope it’s better than it seems.”

Louis nods, “That’s all we’ve got.”

The punctuation to their talk is the oven timer going off and then they’re moving again, checking the temperature of the pot pie and serving up dinner. Harry wouldn’t go so far as to say their conversation is vigorous while they eat- the talk of their jobs earlier is about as personal as it gets. If their conversation was a bowling alley, they play with bumpers: talking about weather and national news, the book Louis is currently reading (The Hate U Give) and Harry’s current obsession with Hallmark movies (“It’s nice to know they’ll always have a happy ending”). Niall is another safe topic - his promotion to tenured teacher and going home to see his family. They don’t share memories of the past and certainly don’t talk about the future but they get through it with a few shared laughs and quiet moments. 

Once they clean the kitchen, they go their separate ways again - Louis back to the couch and Harry upstairs. It’s not perfect but it’s something and more than Harry could have imagined when he walked in the house four days ago. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

It’s odd when people disappear from our lives. The amount of left over information they leave is, all at once, completely useless. Louis has a storage box in his mind of Harry Things with nowhere to go. They aren’t interesting facts he could recite at a quiz night: Harry is sensitive to dairy products and once saved paychecks in college to buy a cashmere sweater. Still, he can’t seem to forget all the Harry Things swirling in his brain like, Harry has never broken a bone, Harry sometimes reads the last page of books to find out the ending before he reads the beginning, Harry’s fingers twitch when he doesn’t know what to say, Harry likes to be kissed out of the blue, Harry likes his hair pulled when they have sex. All of these things he learned over eight years, memorized and held onto. But the second Harry left, their importance ceased to matter.  Once in awhile, he tries to remember when things started to get bad between them, what they did wrong. He can’t pinpoint it, even now; It was a slow slide, an avalanche in the making. They didn’t see it coming until they were buried and couldn’t breathe. It was too late and they didn’t have the answers, hindsight proves that.

Louis opens his eyes on the last thought. He doesn’t want to go down this road so early on a new morning.  When he rolls over in bed, he sees the glow of fresh snow with golf ball-sized flakes falling from the sky. Despite everything, there is peace in this scene and Louis doesn’t move from bed in favor of watching it. He gets out of bed eventually; coffee calling his name louder than a warm bed. 

While the coffee brews, Louis opens up the blinds in the kitchen to let in the snowy morning. The heater kicks on in the midst of his rounds, warmth seeping in slowly. Before one pot is even ready, Harry appears in the kitchen in his sweats and thick socks, a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. “I’m going to make waffles,” he says, voice muffled as he opens a cupboard. “Saw Niall still has that waffle iron.”

Louis doesn’t turn from the window when he answers. “Nice.” 

This is a familiar morning but a whole new world and Louis still gets caught in surprise at each turn. Waffles on snow days isn’t a coincidence - it was always tradition for them. Chocolate chips, whip cream and hot chocolate used to complete the ritual. It started two winters ago when Harry was finishing his clinical rotation and he came home from an overnight shift and woke Louis up with a frozen kiss before the sun had risen. He pulled him from bed and to the window to see the first snow, the excitement in his eyes the only thing Louis could focus on in the fog of waking up. Now, the coffee pot announces itself finished and Louis is pulled from another web of memories. Harry keeps getting him stuck in this loop - one step ahead and two steps back into a past they can’t repeat.

“Shit.” 

Louis pauses from taking mugs from the cupboard at Harry’s voice. “What?” He turns to see Harry’s legs sticking out of the fridge, his upper-half hidden inside.

“No eggs for the waffles,” he says, his voice getting less muffled as he backs out of the refrigerator. 

“Not in the mood for vegan waffles?” Harry pulls a face and Louis smiles. He sets his mug softly on the counter and pours a cup of coffee. In all honesty, waffles did sounds nice - snow day tradition or not.

“Would you want to walk downtown and grab breakfast?”

Harry asks it in the midst of Louis’s first sip of hot coffee and it doesn’t go well. Inelegantly, he starts to choke then swallows and coughs all in quick succession. He clears his throat lightly before turning around to face Harry. There’s no amusement on Harry’s face at the display, no hint of a smile that would have surely been there a year ago. 

“Sure.” Louis surprises even himself when he says it - like his mouth has gone rogue from the rest of him. 

Harry tucks his lips in his mouth when he nods. “Okay. I’ll just change.”

Louis nods and lifts his cup slightly, “Let me finish this and then I’ll be right behind you.”

They reconvene in the foyer in jeans and sweatshirts, puffy jackets and warm hats. Harry has an electric pink beanie while Louis’s is black to match his gloves. Harry’s gloves are familiar: black with a multi-colored design Louis bought for him last year. “Ready?” Harry murmurs without pausing for an answer as he opens the front door and they file outside.

In sync, they pause at the top of the stairs leading to the driveway to look around. The world is untouched, brushed in wide strokes of white and chilly blue from a swirled sky. Their breath comes out in cloudy puffs, disappearing between the flakes still falling from the sky. “It doesn’t get old,” Harry breathes quietly and Louis has to agree. They pause a moment longer and then start down the stairs at the same time, slow and careful in case it’s slick beneath the surface. The snow is soft as they trek their usual path, their feet sinking as they trudge.

“This is hard,” Harry says as his feet sink in the wetness. “In Chicago they plow it so hard, you can’t even tell it’s there.”

Louis actually feels himself inhale sharply at the mention of Chicago. It shouldn’t be surprising for Harry to mention it considering it’s where he lives but it’s still spiky to be reminded so casually. “No snow plows in the forest,” is his boring response. 

They’re quiet the rest of the walk but it doesn’t take words for them to find Salty’s - the bakery they’ve spent countless mornings in over the years. They used to come as a place to study when they were in college, though they mostly ended up playing footsie under the table or drinking too much coffee and talking about all the things they could think of. After college, they’d stop by on Saturday mornings or one of them would swing by to pick something up if the other was too busy. Louis hasn’t been back in months. 

The bakery is fully in the Christmas spirit with twinkling lights surrounding the windows, a big evergreen tree in the corner. It’s busy even in the snow, the buzz of the crowd electric with caffeine and excitement over the season’s first big storm. “I’ll get us a seat,” Harry says as they walk in and see the line wrapping around the side of the restaurant. 

Louis nods and then pauses, “What do you want for breakfast?” 

He knows before Harry says. It’s one of the Harry Things he wishes he could forget even as Harry recites the same order he’s placed every time: “Ham and cheese croissant, please.”

“Right,” Louis says and then he’s turning away and getting in the line at the counter. 

He glances around the restaurant to see where Harry has landed and finds him at a table in the corner. He’s using napkins from the metal box near the window to clear off the table, which mostly seems to be flicking crumbs onto the ground. As if Harry knows Louis is watching, he looks over. Louis looks away. 

There’s a young couple with twin boys leaving a table near the register. The twins are only toddlers but Louis meets the wayward eyes of one of them over the shoulder of his dad. Louis smiles and wiggles his eyebrows and the boy smiles back at him, cherry red lips with some remnants of his breakfast still sitting on his cheeks. Louis never considered he’d have kids by now - not until he’s thirty at least - but he always thought he knew who would be the second father. Like so many other things in his life a year ago, it felt like a sure thing. 

“Next?”

Louis pulls himself from his thoughts to place their order, trying to stick to food instead of accidentally spilling the way it feels like his life is constantly cracking apart.

Once he pays, he takes the placard with their order number and winds through the tables toward Harry. He slows when he sees someone else standing at the edge of the table, familiar as she flips her hair and he sees her side profile: Annie Jones. Louis hasn’t seen her in years, only vaguely keeping up with her life Instagram. She was dating one of his college roommates, Jonathan. He remembers mostly because the year he decided to move in with Harry, Jonathan moved in with Annie. 

He watches in slight amusement as she presses her left hand toward Harry’s face, the diamond glinting in the low restaurant light. Harry, for his part, looks surprised by the fingers in his face though he smiles and Louis reads, “Congratulations,” on his lips. Louis finds himself at the edge of the table far too soon, more interested in watching this exchange than being a part of it. 

“Louis!” Annie says as soon as she sees him, her tone a perpetual up-talk with an exclamation point ending. “We were just talking about you!”

Louis tilts his head with a smile and glance at Harry, “Were you?” He slips into the booth across from Harry without even attempting to hug Annie hello - they weren’t close to begin with, less so four years later. 

“Annie was just telling me how she’s in town to celebrate her and Jonathan’s engagement,” Harry says, filling Louis in.

“Congratulations,” Louis says. “You guys are in living in San Francisco, right?” He may only keep up with them on Instagram these days but he does have a pretty good memory. 

“We are,” Annie trills, clearly excited Louis knows this fact. “We’re actually having an engagement-slash-Christmas party tonight at Jonathan’s parents’ house! You guys should come!” Her eyes seem to sparkle as she grins, gaining momentum and enthusiasm as she speaks. “We’re having a bunch of the old crowd over, people in town for the holidays and whatever! You both have to come!”

Harry blinks at her and Louis wants to laugh. Annie spitting sunshine while they sit here in the biggest crisis of their own lives, nothing but miles of barren sentences between them now. 

“Uh, sure,” Harry says and Louis tries to keep his jaw from dropping. “That would be fun.”  Louis stares in confusion as Harry exchanges phone numbers with Annie and tells her to text him info on the party later. Harry was even less close to Annie than Louis considering he usually came to Louis’s place for the express intent of seeing Louis. 

“I’ll let you get back to breakfast,” Annie says once she and Harry have finished their info exchange. “Oh, wait, one more thing because I know Jonathan will ask. Are you guys engaged yet?”

Harry’s eyes go wide as he looks at Louis while Louis’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. This is exactly the kind of situation he’s been trying to avoid. “No,” he manages to answer which is more than Harry attempts with his eyes still about to pop out of his head.

“No?” She narrows her eyes, “Are you sure?” She looks at Harry as if for confirmation.

Louis dares him to tell the truth, to bare their dirty laundry to a mere acquaintance, to face the awkward predicament Louis is constantly faced with in this town. He’s spent nine months avoiding everyone they used to know - not wanting to explain the truth, not wanting to answer questions. He’s done okay with it so far - white lies at the grocery store and avoiding his personal life when he talks to absolutely anyone. He’s dying to know how Harry will fare with the same situations.

“Not engaged,” Harry says quietly. Not a lie but certainly not the whole truth. Harder than you think, Louis thinks but doesn’t say.

“Well, not yet,” she says confidently. “We used to think you’d be the first ones down the aisle and popping out kids after college.”

“Not quite the popping out kids type,” Louis says drily. 

Annie looks surprised and tilts her head as though she’s not in on the joke.

“Don’t have the right bits and pieces,” Harry says and Louis has to try not to laugh when he catches Harry’s eye. 

“Oh, of course, right, of course,” Annie stumbles over her words and Louis disguises his impending laughter with a cough.

“We’ll see you tonight,” Harry says politely as if to save her. 

Annie’s cheeks are flushed with embarrassment at not being in on the joke and Louis tries to smooth the bump, “What can we bring?”

“A dessert would be great. Oh, and we’re playing a wine game so bring a bottle of red.One per couple,” she says, cheeks coloring normally again, voice bubbly.

Harry seems to lose his own momentum of being amiable and nods. “Cool. See you later, then.”

“Bye,” she says, too loud and overwhelming. “See you tonight. Jonathan is going to be so excited.”

Her departure is almost immediately filled by a waiter who delivers their breakfast to the table. They thank him as he disappears and then sit in silence for a moment. 

“So I guess we’re going to a party tonight?” Louis says, to at least acknowledge the shit show they just experienced. 

“I was just agreeing to be nice,” Harry says. “You’re the one who asked what we can bring.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Oh wow, sorry, didn’t realize you were just being polite as you gave out your phone number, asked for the address, and told her we would be there.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “I was a bit caught off guard considering she clearly thinks we’re still together.”

Louis shrugs, “I didn’t tell her we were.”

“But you didn’t tell her we weren’t either.”

“Neither did you, Harry.”

“There wasn’t really a pause in conversation to do so,” Harry says. “Not to mention Jonathan is your friend in the first place. You should have told him.”

Louis opens his mouth and then closes it, shaking his head. As if he was going to publish a press release to random friends they used to know about the status of their relationship. “Why are we even fighting about this? It doesn’t matter.”

Harry swallows and reaches for his croissant on the tray. “Thanks for breakfast,” he says and like that, their argument is finished.

*

With an impending party in the evening, they stop by the grocery store on the way back to Niall’s. “What kind of dessert do you want to bring?” Harry asks while they’re in the middle of the wine aisle and Louis actually sighs. He forgot there was dessert involved. 

“Can we just grab a cake from the bakery or something?”

“I’ll just make sugar cookies,” Harry says, already wandering away with the cart. 

Louis rolls his eyes at his back. Like he’s really going to let Harry make cookies by himself for a party they’re both going to. He wouldn’t do it while they were dating and he’s not going to do it now.

As a general rule of thumb, Louis chooses a mid-tier red wine for them to bring and then spends the next fifteen minutes wandering around the store trying to find Harry who has suddenly disappeared. By the time he does find him again, they’re ready to check out and Louis is not in a good mood. By the set of Harry’s lips and the stilted conversation he makes with the cashier, Louis would guess he isn’t either. Annie Jones is going to rue the day she invited the world’s worst party guests to her engagement party. 

*

Since Harry walked through Niall’s kitchen door five days ago, there have been quite a few things Louis hadn’t seen coming:  Rolling out cookie dough while Harry meticulously cuts Christmas-themed designs is certainly one of those things. “Fuck,” Louis curses softly as his dough sticks to the rolling pin and tears in pieces. Again. They’ve been baking since they got back from the grocery store, a stilted silence surrounding them.

“Add more flour,” Harry says with a sidelong glance. “Helps it not stick.”

“I know,” Louis says, perhaps more aggressively than he means. The cookie dough continues to take the brunt of his frustrations and doesn’t handle it well as it tears apart for the third time. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says loudly, wadding it into a ball and dropping it on the cutting board. “Fuck.” In the silent echo of his outburst, he finds Harry looking at him, eyes wide and lips gently parted. Louis has to look away. He’s loved that face for so long, he’s still trying to remember how to forget all of that. “Sorry,” he says to the wall instead of Harry.

“It’s alright,” Harry says. “I can finish the cutting the cookies if you want to make the frosting.”

“It’s not the cookies, Harry,” Louis says, finally meeting Harry’s eyes. “It’s not the fucking cookies.”

“I know,” Harry says, just as quiet. He looks away and goes back to cutting his Christmas tree shapes like nothing has happened. “You don’t have to come tonight, if you don’t want.”

Louis wants to drop his head back and scream, he wants to pick up the phone and call God, ask him what exactly he was playing at when he decided they didn’t belong together. It’s unbearable that Louis can say nothing but Harry can still understand everything. Un-fucking-bearable. “I’ll start on the frosting,” Louis says rather than acknowledge the obvious out Harry is giving him. He doesn’t want to go but he doesn’t want Harry to go without him. Not even because it’s Harry but because Harry might break every lie he’s been weaving through this city with justfew choice words. Louis coped with Harry leaving with lies and he certainly doesn’t want to start coping by telling the truth.

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry knows exactly what he would want to wear to an engagement party at Christmas a year ago. He’d grab something like black and white pinstripe trousers with a black sweater and a pair of rip off Gucci loafers he found on the Real Real last summer. This year he’s not in the mood for that outfit and he definitely didn’t bring it on this trip. All he really brought are sweatpants, faded blue jeans, hoodies, and chunky sweaters. He certainly wasn’t expecting to be invited to any parties while he was here.

He ends up dumping most of his bag on the bed and staring disdainfully at the contents. There’s nothing calling to him and though he’s not out to impress anyone, it’s always nice not to be seen as a total wreck amongst people he hasn’t seen in some time. He has one pair of black boots so he builds from there with wide leg jeans and a chunky red sweater. He likes the boots because the toe is edged with gold metal but it all feels a little lame as he finally leaves his room.

Louis is standing in the foyer holding their container of cookies with his coat already on. “Nice boots,” he says as Harry comes down the stairs. Harry doesn’t respond, not in the mood to take Louis’s words to heart right now. It’s not as if he has other shoes to put on besides running shoes or his old Vans. “I’m serious, H,” Louis says like he can read Harry’s thoughts. “The gold is awesome.”

Harry smiles, small. “Thanks.”

H. He wonders if Louis even noticed he called him H. It’s always been a rather obvious nickname, the first letter of his name - but its always belonged to Louis. People call Harry by his full name or Mr. Styles, only Louis shortened it to a singular letter. Harry never minded. In fact, the first time Louis started using it repeatedly, they’d been officially dating three months and Harry was spending the weekend at Louis’s studying. It wasn’t exactly productive considering Louis kept walking around with nothing but his sweats on and Harry was an easily distracted freshman in college. Still, when Louis changed him to H it was a level of intimacy Harry had never reached. Far beyond physical acts or long drawn out professions of love. No, H was a world in itself. H made him belong to Louis in a way the outside world couldn’t touch. To everyone he was Harry and that was fine; but to the man who had his heart, he was only H. Hearing it now, it feels more shattered than special and Harry is already regretting this party for the third time since agreeing to come.

“Wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he says to Louis in the startling quiet. The bottle of wine they’re bringing is on the side table and Harry sets it between the toes of his boots while he puts on his jacket and gloves. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have many other party invites two days before Christmas.” He smiles wryly, “And I figured after this week, I deserve a free drink or two.”

“Or three,” Harry says as he opens the door to let them out into the night. He tries not to blush when Louis laughs as he follows behind. He used to bend over backwards to get Louis to laugh at him. At the beginning, Niall seemed to always get laughter out of Louis and Harry wanted to be the one who did it instead. He would try so hard to be intentionally funny and Louis always humored him. Eventually, he found Louis laughed hardest when Harry didn’t try at all. It was never cruel laughter, never made Harry insecure; it was just like Louis was always in on the joke, a partner in crime.

Outside, the cold night and freezing air press in suddenly. There’s a car at the curb waiting for them - an Uber Louis must have called - and they trudge through the snow toward the backseat. The snow has hardened to be icy in the dark, so they take it extra slow, the headlights of the car and porch lights of the house casting diamonds all around them. Safely inside the car, its Harry’s job to read the address Annie text him from this morning so Louis can put it in the app as their destination. Then it goes silent again; the driver not playing music or making a single sound as they start their descent off Niall’s hill.

Unwittingly and unwillingly, a memory comes pressing in as the world rushes by. A couple years ago and they were in a backseat just like this but headed the opposite way - up to Niall’s. For some reason that has gone blurry now, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Maybe it had been a long week or maybe one of them had gotten new jeans, a new sweater; maybe they were just wildly in love. Whatever it was, they kept leaning across the gap in the middle to kiss each other, and at one point Harry buckled himself into the middle seat to kiss Louis’s neck, biting just under his ear. Now, all these moments away from then, Harry can still remember the way Louis’s hand wandered up his leg, his thigh, his fingers hooking into the waist of his jeans. His broken gasp against Louis’s neck was like a trigger and Louis pulled away to ask the driver to take them back where they had come from. There was some made up excuse about forgetting something or being sick - another detail that has gone blurry. What Harry remembers for sure, so clear its almost visceral, was the way he wanted to devour Louis entirely, the way spending even a moment with their mouths separated was like a sin against their favorite god. And now, here they are: another backseat and another night but a stark contrast. They don’t even make eye contact as the cab races through the wintery streets.

*

They’re met with a shriek when they walk through the door of Jonathan’s parents’ house. “You guys actually came!” Annie is on them the second they come through the door, the wind from outside still cooling the air around them. She squeezes Harry into a hug and the bottle of the wine he's brought presses between them. For a heartbeat Harry wonders what would happen if she squeezes any harder, whether the bottle would break under the pressure.

“Said we would,” Louis says as Annie releases Harry and squishes him instead. Louis kisses her cheek as he hugs her and Harry looks away. For everything he remembers, there are still some things he’s forgotten in the day to day routine of what their lives used to be; things like kisses on cheeks as greetings. Louis was always the best at making someone feel at ease, feel welcome in a strange room. He did that to Harry at the first party where they met, made him feel like someone important in a room full of others.

“Great, we’ll take ours over,” Louis says in response to something Harry has missed and then he’s guiding Harry with a hand on his lower back through the crowded house of people. Harry feels the distinct moment Louis realizes what he’s doing, his hand slipping off Harry’s sweater like he’s been burnt.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks to cover the awkward beat.

“We have to submit our wine to the contest.”

“Sounds like the state fair.”

“Yeah, well this doesn’t include milking cow competitions so not sure it’s the same.”

Harry laughs in a burst and then bites his lip to cover the loud sound. He used to get so mad when Louis would say something to make him fall into hysterics when no one else was laughing. Louis would say things so quietly in his ear that he was the only one in on the joke. He could never swallow the laughter into a smirk; instead it would burst out of him in the form of cackling laughter.

Before he can overthink it this time, they’re intercepted in the middle of the room by a familiar face: Liam Payne - Louis’s other roommate all through college. “Boys,” he says through a giant smile, attempting and failing to hug them both at once which leads to a mess of squirming as Harry and Louis both try not to end up with their faces pressed together. Harry does a full spin out of Liam’s arms just as Louis ducks underneath his arm to end up behind him. If Liam notices the messy shuffle, he doesn’t let on. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says joyfully. “What with Harry back in town and all.”

Harry blinks dumbly, lips parted but no words lining up to exit. It’s strange to have Liam mention it outright like that - how odd it is that they’re hanging out together, arriving at parties together when they broke up nine months ago. Harry blinks and looks at Louis, praying he’ll say something to get them out of this tight spot. Louis seems to be paling instead, his eyes not meeting Harry’s.

“Wasn’t fully convinced you’d leave the house,” Liam says, grinning wider.

Harry isn’t sure this is a funny situation but Liam has always been the type of guy to see the sunshine through the rain. He’s trying to think of something to say about being friends with Louis, or _something_, when Liam beats him to it again.

“Leave the bedroom, I should say,” he intones quieter and this time Harry’s eyes go wide as, “What?” slips out loudly.

“We need to go put our wine with the game,” Louis says over the edge of Harry’s one word. “See you in a sec, Liam.”

Harry doesn’t move even as Louis walks right into him, his mind racing in circles and none of them connecting to his feet moving him away from this moment. “Louis?” He asks as Liam disappears into a swirl of the crowd around them.

“Not here,” Louis says tersely. “Not now.”

“Not now?” Harry repeats, standing his ground even as Louis presses against him again, trying to get him to move. He’s not going to pretend that one of Louis’s best friends didn’t just suggest they are still together. “Why not?”

“Harry, please,” Louis says and there’s not a trace of anything besidespleading on his face. Harry reads it right there in the draw of his eyes and line of his jaw, curve of his mouth. He blinks once at Louis and silently agrees. Not here, not now.

“Later, then,” Harry says and on that he turns and walks away, leaving Louis standing somewhere behind him.

He has no idea where he’s even going until he sees wine bottles lined up on a table in the back and he beelines for it, remembering the reason they were heading this way in the first place. He feels like he’s watching himself from across the room, confusion pulsing at the very center of him. The other wine bottles have been sheathed in a brown paper bag, a ribbon tied around their neck to obscure the entire label. A blind taste test, then. Harry’s done this game before - except in college it was shots of different kind of liquor and you tried to guess which kind as it burned down your throat. He remembers tequila that made him gag and Louis kissing him, his tongue cooling the fire as all of their friends laughed at them.

He rolls his eyes at himself as he grabs a brown bag for their bottle. He can’t get through two seconds without a memory of Louis obliterating his train of thought and he’s starting to get sick of it. He was with Louis for eight years and he can only pray it won’t take eight years to be clean of the memories lurking at every turn. It sure as hell isn’t helping to be finding people who don’t know they broke up in the first place. Maybe they never made a formal Instagram post to announce it but surely word should have gotten around already. Surely Louis would have told his best friend from college, he reasons silently to himself. There must just be a miscommunication.

There are pre-cut pieces of ribbon on the table and Harry takes one to tie around the top of the bottle. The bag slips down as he tries to circle the ribbon and his next attempt fails when the ribbon slips from his fingers completely. Arts and crafts aren’t a natural talent and his mind spinning in circles certainly doesn’t help his effort. He’s three seconds from just hiding the bottle under the table and pretending they didn’t bring one when the ribbon slips from his fingers again, this time connected to another hand.

“Hold the bag,” Louis says quietly. Harry stills his hands and Louis ties the ribbon easily, fingers steady.

“Thanks,” Harry says, staring at the ribbon like it’s done something spectacular. Louis doesn’t hear or just doesn’t acknowledge it as he sets the bottle down with the rest of the covered bottles.

It turns out they’re done just in time as Annie interrupts the party to explain the rules of the wine game and hand out score sheets to everyone she can reach. Jonathan follows behind her with pencils to hand out and he gives Harry and Louis both a hug when he sees them before going back to his pencil duties. “Try every wine,” Annie trills over the small crowd who is barely listening, “And try to rank your favorite. At the end, we’ll reveal the labels to see which of you have good taste. Ready, go.” Her enthusiasm isn’t exactly compelling but Harry needs a drink worse than air in this situationso he happens to be one of the first in line to pour a glass. He loses Louis in the process and ignores everyone pouring small amounts in their glasses in favor of a near full glass of a deep red.

“Harry Styles,” someone says right in his ear the second he goes to take a sip. He forgoes politeness as he finishes taking a gulp before turning toward the voice.

“Melanie,” he says when he realizes he does recognize the voice. Melanie Sanchez - another friend from college who stuck around in Eugene and teaches with Niall at the same elementary school. “How are you?” He asks as she goes in for a hug, her lips bushing his cheek briefly.

“I’m good, better now you’re here,” she says. “I thought you were in Chicago?”

Finally, someone who knows. Harry almost sighs in relief as he nods, “Yep. Home - or, back for the holidays,” he self-corrects the word home, slightly embarrassed by the slip. He doesn’t really have a home anymore.

“Niall mentioned you’d gotten a job out there and then you were gone! Didn’t even say goodbye.” She smiles, “Quick turn around?”

He hasn’t thought about the way he left Eugene other than the way it relates to Louis but standing here now it slips into place: he left everyone else behind without a word. Burned all his bridges with a quick exit; blew up the most important bridge with a decisive fire. “Kind of,” he says, borderline sheepish. “Didn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

“Of course, of course,” she says, nodding along. “And this is your first time back?” She tilts her head when he nods. “Can’t believe you guys survived that.”

“Survived?” He asks slowly, somehow knowing what she’s going to say next.

“You and Louis,” she says. “But I guess that’s hashtag couple goals, right?” She laughs and it’s such a happy sound it’s nearly buoys the deep pit of Harry’s stomach.

“Right,” he says softly then, “I better go mingle.”

She lets him off the hook with another hug and he only feels bad for a split second before pressing through toward the other side of the room. It’s excusable for Melanie not to know he’s not with Louis since she works with Niall who would have kept it quiet, and understandable for Anniewho no longer lives in Eugene, and even for the grocery store clerk if Louis didn’t want to spill his life story while buying a gallon of milk. But Liam is still tripping at the side of Harry’s brain - Liam who would foreseeably have been in their wedding if there ever was one, Liam who one of Louis’s closest friends. The fact he doesn’t seem to have any idea they’ve been separated is bizarre to a degree Harry wasn’t expecting.

The game of tasting wine goes on but Harry doesn’t play - getting himself another glass and strategically moving away from Louis anytime they seem to get closer together. Maybe, he thinks in the midst of his third glass of red, no one has bothered to ask Louis if they’re still together. Maybe they all just assume and Lous is too polite to correct them. It’s not like relationship statuses come up in every conversation, Harry reasons. That could be understandable.

Except.

Except for how over the next hour Harry ends up in conversation after conversation with people who either know he’s living in Chicago but think he's doing long distance with Louis or people who seem to know nothing other than to ask a variety of questions including: where Louis is, how his better half is doing, or whether they will make the invite list for the eventual wedding. All in all, it’s overwhelming in the worst way. Harry feels like he’s spinning as he gives non answers and lies through his teeth. The more wine he has, the worse it gets, like a terrible nightmare of innocent bystanders who keep asking the worst questions.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

The party is terrible and Louis feels terrible for thinking it the moment the thought forms. It’s probably a bad omen to say someone’s engagement party is terrible. He’s had a couple glasses of wine and enjoyed seeing friends he hasn’t in awhile but there’s a perpetual black cloud hovering over the room in the form of his ex-boyfriend. Every time he has looked for Harry, Harry was already looking back at him but each time Louis took a step closer, Harry moved further away and they never seem to catch up.

There’s anxiety poking at Louis’s heart about what Harry may be saying to everyone he speaks with, everyone who has no idea they broke up. Louis should have warned him before they showed up, should have told him what he was walking into. It was easier to just tell them Harry moved to Chicago than it was to say Harry _left_ _him_ and moved to Chicago. It was cowardly, he knows. But in months where heartache was his only friend, he took the easy route of lying and avoidance instead of slogging through sympathy and the truth. None of that seems to matter now that he’s set Harry loose in a room of the precariously stacked half-truths he’s told. 

He loses track of the wine game but pretends to go back for new tastes as a way to get himself out of conversations he doesn’t want to be in. Being social always sounds better on paper than in the moment. He’d much rather like to be at home in his sweats, his own bottle of wine and Netflix on television. And then suddenly, halfway through a story about someone’s honeymoon gone wrong, he realizes there’s nothing stopping him from leaving. He has no obligation to be here. Just like that, he feels a release around his chest at the realizations as he empties his wine glass and sets it on the nearest table. 

He decides to let Harry know he's leaving as common courtesy though he's suddenly in a rush to get away from this whole night. It only takes a moment to find Harry in the wrangle of people; Louis’s eyes connect with his like magnets as he scans the room. Harry is on the edge of a group, an empty glass in his hand. Considering he’s staring at Louis, Louis doubts he’s very engaged in the group.

“I’m going,” Louis mouths the words and points with his thumb toward the door. He starts to turn and then pauses when he sees Harry starting toward him. Harry deposits his wine glass on the kitchen island and then he’s standing right in front of Louis. “I’m leaving,” Louis says out loud, confused how his earlier hand motion didn’t convey the same thing.

“Yeah,” Harry says like it’s obvious. “Me too. Let’s go.” 

“You don’t have to,” Louis says as Harry starts going toward where they left their coats. “I didn’t mean to make you leave.”

Harry glances over his shoulder, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “There’s no way you’re leaving me behind.”

_Like you left me for Chicago?_ Luckily the words don’t come out from the inside of Louis’s tipsy head but its as good of a reminder as any what a few glasses of wine can do to him. 

Neither one of them seems intent on goodbyes as they pull on their coats in a corner near the front door. By this point most people are a bottle of wine deep and not worried about the quiet boys in the corner. 

“Harry, Louis!” 

Louis realizes he’s spoke too soon as Liam comes up to them, his cheeks flushed from drinks, eyes smiling nearly as much as his mouth.

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

“Heading home, Li,” Louis says. He zips his jacket with finality. Liam used to have a magical talent of getting him to stay out later than he wanted. 

“So soon?” He looks at Harry. “I’ve barely seen you, dude.”

“I know,” Harry says, his voice tight for reasons Louis can’t place. “I’ll try to catch up with you before I head back, yeah?”

“You better,”Liam says. He leans in and crushes Harry in a hug Harry doesn’t exactly reciprocate. “I understand if you only want to see this one, though.” He says it loud enough for Louis to hear though he smiles conspiratorially at Harry. 

“We’ll see you later, Liam,” Louis says, turning toward the door and hoping Harry will follow. He knows this is his worst offense - not telling Liam the truth. No doubt Harry will agree if he hasn’t figured it out already. 

“Oh, desperate to be alone again, I get it,” he says. It’s meant to be funny, Louis knows. Normally it would be but right now it feels like provoking a lion.

“Actually, Liam,” Harry starts to say but Louis can’t let him.

“Harry,” he says sharply, one hand coming to Harry’s arm and tugging slightly.

“Louis,” Harry says lowly, finally meeting his eyes. There’s danger there. Not that Louis feels unsafe, only that he knows Harry is about to break, and not in the good way.

“Come on,” Louis says, urgency in his voice. If Liam notices the strange exchange, he doesn’t mention it. It feels like at least a minute before Harry moves his feet and files toward the front door.  “I’ll call you later,” he says to Liam as he starts to follow Harry, relief seeping into his stomach. Liam may not notice the strangeness between them but Louis knows he owes him the truth. Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. But, soon. He needs to stop hiding the broken pieces of himself, of his life. 

Snow has started to fall outside again, papery white flakes dancing and crashing to the snow covered ground. Louis can’t even wrestle his phone from his pocket for a car before Harry heads off down the street, his new gold and black boots be damned. Louis sighs, air pushing out through his mouth and then, slowly, he follows. They trudge a silent path, familiar streets though walking in the snow is not Louis’s preferred method of transportation. “You can get a car,” Harry says and for a moment Louis thinks he’s said something out loud.

Louis pauses long enough to see Harry isn’t stopping so he starts walking after him again. “I can get us both a car,” he says, “If you stand still for one second.”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t?” Louis repeats, incredulous. 

“Can’t,” Harry confirms. “If I stop, I’ll have to start thinking about why all the people at the party thought we were together.” 

Louis abruptly shuts his mouth and walks behind Harry in silence. Harry doesn’t want to let it drop, though. “I’ll have to wonder why the lady at the grocery store told me she asks you how I am and how people you see regularly thought we were in a long distance relationship.” There are ripping stitches on Louis’s heart and he wants to tell Harry to stop before they tear but he can’t find the words. 

“If I stop,” Harry says slowly, “I’ll have to think about the fact your best friend from college has no idea we broke up nine months ago.”

The three ending words seem to have punctuation between them and Louis feels each one like a knife under his ribs. There’s another moment of silence where Louis feels pressure in his throat like he might cry and he knows tears would be unreasonable in this weather; they’d freeze to his face. It sounds like something Harry would say and that makes it all the more terrible.

“Are you going to say anything?”

Louis looks up from his feet just in time to see Harry has stopped walking. Louis stops next to him. Under the street light, their breath dances in the dark, flushed cheeks and cold lips. “What do you want me to say?”

Harry looks up at the sky. “Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me all those people were playing a trick, tell me they know the truth.”

Louis opens his mouth but the truth won’t come out, neither will another lie. “Fuck, Louis.”Harry covers his face with his hands and only once he drops them does he ask, “Really?”

Louis shrugs because he can’t really put words behind the action. Yes, he didn’t tell anyone the truth. Yes, he has avoided parties and social gatherings to avoid the truth. Yes, he didn’t change anyone’s minds when they assumed wrong.

Harry takes a slow breath, “Did you just expect me to keep lying for you tonight?”

“No,” Louis says, finally finding a word.

“No?” Harry rolls his eyes. “Well, I did. I nodded and smiled all night and acted like we were still fucking together because that seems to be a lie you want them all to believe.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” Louis says. 

“_You_ didn’t have to lie,” Harry repeats back to him, turning it all around. “You should have told all these people months ago. It's not fair to me, or them,” he says again.

“Not fair,” Louis says, half laughing over the word and finally finding his voice. “You know what’s not fair, Harry? The fact I’m the one who was supposed to tell everyone. You fucking left in the middle of the night, didn’t you? Didn’t pause for one fucking second to think about everything you were leaving.”

Harry swallows and Louis can see his breath coming quicker, his chest heaving. He can’t believe this is what they’re fighting over - telling acquaintances who hardly matter about all the ways they’re broken. “You should have told Liam, at least. What the fuck have you been doing, Louis? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Louis takes a deep breath and wants to scream the bitter truth: I thought you’d be back. I waited and hoped for you to come back so I would never have to be alone again. I thought it was all a cruel joke. Instead, he says, “It was easier to just not say anything, okay? I didn’t have the energy for the questions or the sympathetic looks. I didn’t ask for you to leave, and I sure as hell didn’t ask to be the one left with all the pieces.”

“Are you blaming me? Really? Two played this game, Louis.” Harry smiles but, god, it’s cruel. So cruel, Louis doesn’t even recognize the curve of his lips. 

Louis’s head starts to hurt, the cold of the snowy night pressing in too hard. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Not here, not now,” Harry mimics from earlier, his voice bitter. 

“How about not on my birthday?”

Whatever Harry was going to say next, dies on his tongue. His face changes from vindictive to something Louis doesn’t want to identify. He looks at his phone and Louis sees the screen light up. 12:07, December 24 th . He’s twenty-eight years old and fighting with his ex-boyfriend in the snow. Not the fresh start he’d hoped for. 

Slowly, he starts walking away, taking the lead this time. He barely cares if Harry follows or stands outside in the snow all night. Before the thought even fully forms, he hears the soft scuff of Harry’s boots on the hard packed snow. Neither one of them say a thing for the rest of the walk, and Louis doesn’t blame them. There are enough open wounds and torn hearts to last them a lifetime.


	4. Chapter 4

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry lays in bed on the morning of Christmas Eve staring at the ceiling. The sun hasn’t risen outside though he’s been laying here for so long already, restless sleep evading him. He keeps replaying his conversation with Louis, though maybe argument is a better word, and coming back to the same thing:  Louis didn’t tell anyone they broke up. 

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling but he thinks maybe it came out wrong earlier, to Louis. Anger fueled by embarrassment is one way to look at it. He hated the feeling of being caught off guard by the realization he was the subject of lies he hadn’t told. If he’d broken them, told the truth, he would have been ashamed - cruelly tearing down what Louis had built in secret. 

Cruel. 

The word hangs in his mind. Wasn’t it all most cruel to Louis, after all? Harry isn’t too stubborn to admit they were both hurt by the abrupt demise of their relationship. They said mean things, they dug out all of the roots they had twined around each other. Regardless of who was right or in the wrong, they shared the pulsing pain of broken hearts. Even if Louis let it happen, refused to go with Harry, Harry knows him well enough to know it was never fake love, never piecemeal of his heart handed over to Harry carelessly. 

But while Harry jumped headfirst into his new job and new city, and his own share of new problems, Louis stayed here and stayed quiet. All this time, Harry felt betrayed by the fact Louis had the comforts of home to heal his heart while Harry had anxiety and depression curling around his. And now, the truth: neither one of them has done much healing at all. 

Harry flops to his stomach and wrangles the covers up over his shoulders. No one ever accounts for this part of falling in and out of love; all the irreparable bits and pieces of yourself you lose along the way.  The second his mind wanders away from their argument in defeat, it lands on the date again: Louis’s birthday. Harry can’t even recall what a normal Christmas Eve is supposed to look like when he’s spent the last eight celebrating something far greater than any holiday. 

The first year he was dating Louis, his birthday marked eleven months officially together and Harry was home with him in Seattle for the holidays - his own family off in Australia for the month. He still remembers it so well: waking up on the couch at Louis’s mom’s house. They had been quarantined to separate parts of the house and Harry was far too polite to dream of disobeying even after Louis had told his mom, “Okay, fine, but he sleeps in my bed in Eugene all the time.” His mom had laughed, Louis grinned, and Harry was completely scandalized. Still, that morning he felt brave enough to go find Louis anyway. He opened the door to his bedroom and slipped inside, crawled right up onto the bed and under the covers. The best part, the one that made his nineteen year old heart fizz, was the way Louis didn’t open his eyes at the movement but just pulled Harry right to him, their bodies pressed together in the warmth of the sheets. “Was waiting for you,” Louis murmured and Harry thought right then, on Louis’s twenty-first birthday, he’d like to spend forever like this. 

Louis’s birthdays after that were spent with at least one of their families due to timing, though no one asked them to sleep in different beds after the first year. Last year was the first time they spent Christmas just the two of them, tucked up in their little apartment. Things weren’t great between them, cracks already showing in their faded veneer. Harry had worked a night shift and came home just before eight in the morning on Christmas Eve. Instead of going right to bed, he stopped at the grocery store and bought ingredients for pancakes; Nutella and whipped cream for topping. He found out the difficulty of cooking on no sleep only after he had already started. He had egg shells floating in the batter, and the smoke alarm going off within the first ten minutes. Louis showed up in the kitchen somewhere in the middle of Harry fanning the smoke alarm with a towel and whisper-yelling at it to be quiet. Louis stood on the edge of the room, sleep soft with his arms crossed over his chest, a smile he saved for Harry on his lips. 

“Fuck,” Harry yelled when the smoke alarm went silent and then again when he looked over to see Louis watching him. “Happy Birthday,” he said lamely, motioning around at all the broken pieces of the surprise he was planning. 

Louis uncrossed his arms and crossed the floor, pressed his hands under Harry’s scrubs to sit on his hips. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Harry let himself fall into Louis, his face pressing to his neck. “Less so now that I’ve ruined your birthday?” He mumbled. 

He felt rather than heard Louis laugh. “Impossibly more so,” Louis whispered. “Impossibly more, H.”

Harry ends up dozing off to the sweet memories of Louis, his brain trying to ease the pain of his reality. Sweetness doesn’t last when he falls asleep, though. He wakes up in the throes of another nightmare, the sheets tangled as he jolts awake with another blurry hospital scene fading away. He doesn’t even try to lull himself back to sleep but pulls himself to the shower instead, washing away memories and nightmares lingering around him.

Louis’s door is closed when Harry passes in the hallway and he wonders if Louis is wide awake on the other side, dreading the moment he has to leave and come out to see Harry. Considering they were doing pretty good with each other - all things considered - last night’s snow scene seems like fifty steps backward. 

The coffee pot is on downstairs, no sticky note indicating the time like Louis has been doing. Harry pours a cup anyway and finds it too hot on the first drink. Good to know Louis was just here, managed to scurry up to his room before Harry emerged. It should be embarrassing, the way they are around each other. Aren’t exes supposed to be friends? Harry wouldn’t really know. Louis was his first proper, well, everything including ex. If this is how every great love story ends, Harry doesn’t think he really need any others in his life. 

On that disappointing thought, he wanders over toward the front room to watch a Christmas movie. Nothing quite as depressing as being sad on Christmas Eve.  He ends up dozing on and off to some ridiculous romance, his body begging for some restful sleep. He doesn’t see Louis until the afternoon when he wanders into the kitchen for a snack and finds Louis at the counter reading. Harry takes it as a good sign that he’s out of his room though he’s not sure anything is a good sign in their circumstances.  He watches from the doorway for a moment, admiring the line of his neck and the way he stretches his shoulder slightly as he reads his book. Harry used to be able to watch Louis uninterrupted through the most mundane activities. “I can feel your eyes,” Louis used to say without looking up. The Louis in front of him does not say that now. 

“Good morning,” Harry says to break up the silence. 

Louis looks up like he already knew Harry was there. “Morning? It’s afternoon now.”

Harry swallows, “Well.” He shifts and hates how awkward this all is. He used to walk around naked in front of this man, used to do stupidly embarrassing things like trip over nothing and try to win arguments with the wrong basic facts. Hate isn’t a strong enough word for the way he feels. “This is the first time I’m seeing you,” he says,a bit more aggressive than wholly necessary. “So, good morning.” Then he adds, “Happy birthday,” as an afterthought. 

Louis lifts his eyebrows in surprise and then steadies his face before Harry can fully register it. “Thanks,” he says. 

Harry nods and then heads for the refrigerator for food and for solace from this exchange. In the cold light he stares blankly at the back wall where the preferred temperatures of refrigeration are listed. Maybe, he thinks from inside the refrigerator, they should try a bit harder to be nice to each other. He knows now, in ways he only suspected before, that Louis hasn’t been living an all too joyous life the last nine months. In that way, they are the same. The problem, he thinks, is that he doesn’t know how to begin. How to look at crumbled, ashy bridges and try to start repairing them. 

“Hey, H?” 

Harry slams his head against the fridge in his haste to turn around.”Shit. Fuck,” he says, one hand on his forehead. Louis raises his eyebrows, something like a smile dancing along his lips. “Sorry.”

“Not words I haven’t heard before,” he says easily. 

Harry used to love the way a look from Louis could twist his thoughts and jumble his words but here, now, it’s just frustrating. “Right,” he says, trying to regain his composure. 

“I was thinking of going down to the Christmas market,” he says. 

The Christmas market. One of their favorite traditions, usually done much earlier than this. Walking through the stalls of artisans and small businesses, all of the festive lights and cheery music, the grand Christmas tree in the middle. It’s usually cold and was a perfect excuse to walk attached to each other, pink cheeks and red lips. They didn’t go last year, Harry remembers clearly, because they got into a fight the day they intended to go. A dumb fight he can’t even recall now. 

“I was thinking,” Louis says when Harry stays quiet, “You might like to come with me? If you’re up for it?”

Harry tries his best not to gape. For all his wondering about how to build bridges, Louis takes the first step and does it for him. He forgets how to speak and then remembers all at once, clearing his throat and stumbling over, “Yes,” so it ends up coming out three times all told: “Yeah, sure, yes.”

Louis doesn’t smile just nods like he’s checking something off a list and Harry can’t help but wonder if their intentions are the same. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis waits for Harry in the foyer while he gets dressed for the market. Louis told him not to rush but he’s not sure Harry heard with the way he refused to make eye contact as he ran up the stairs to his room. Louis’s trying to make things somewhat livable between them and he hopes he’s doing it right. 

It’s rather a change of heart since he last considered anything like cordiality with Harry. It’s just that last night seemed to hammer home some of the loose screws in the way he’s organized his feelings the past nine months. The way Harry raised his voice, the incredulous way he asked why Louis hadn’t told anyone they broke up. Louis wanted to tell him the truth, tell him he thought Harry would be coming back, but he couldn’t spit it out. It’s pathetic no matter what way he flips it and the shame of holding out hope burned his ears as he laid in bed and replayed the fight. 

The fight wasn’t the first thing he thought of when he woke up this morning, though. Before he even opened his eyes, his mind had already wandered to pancakes and Nutella. It’s funny the way the mind plays tricks, the way it digs up the things we don’t want to remember at the most inopportune times. But, there it was: a memory so vivid it seemed like a dream. Harry in his scrubs, flour on his cheek, humming to himself as he hobbled together pancakes while he thought Louis slept - not that Louis could sleep thought the racket he was making. 

Still, there was something so perfectly peaceful that morning, one year ago, about the way Harry cursed when he saw Louis behind him, the way he pressed his nose to Louis’s neck when they hugged. Something peaceful, and something magical. _Something_ that made Louis take out the engagement ring he’d bought for Harry while Harry slept off his shift later that day. He’d turned it in the light and glanced at Harry in their bed. Soon, he’d thought to himself as Harry curled closer to Louis’s empty side of the bed. Soon, Louis would ask and Harry would say yes. Soon, they would be forever. In the end, though, soon didn’t come soon enough. 

“Ready?”

Harry drags Louis from his reverie in his warm jacket and beanie, bundled like a dark colored Michelin man as he comes down the stairs. “Ready,” Louis agrees. For the third time in as many days, they set off down the street from Niall’s house together.

*

The Christmas market is much the same as it usually is, tents packed tightly together with crowds of people pushing up between the aisles, festive fervor rushing through the air. Without a word, Harry and Louis start at the far aisle the way they usually do, making their way up through the stalls. 

For the first bit they’re quiet and, Louis would argue, somber. It’s like they’ve just left a funeral and forced themselves to come here - not exactly the cheer Louis hoped for on his birthday. 

“Lou,” Harry says suddenly and with enough urgency to make Louis stop immediately, worried. 

“What?” 

“Sorry,” Harry says quickly, maybe hearing the fear in Louis’s voice. Then he points toward a stall, “Look over there.”

Louis’s heart slows as he follows Harry’s finger. “No way.” He laughs and stares at the stand on the corner of the aisle. A curved table filled with glass globes, some with glitter floating through them and others sitting still.  A world of snow globes and a memory that hits Louis harder than having the wind knocked from his lungs. It’s hard to explain it right without saying, _you had to have been there,_ but Louis can’t deny the burst of butterflies in his stomach as it floods back. 

It was the first time they came to the Christmas market when they were dating, eleven months in and headed to Louis’s for the holiday in nearly a week. “I want to find something magic at the market,” Harry had said that morning, when they woke up in Louis’s bed, his roommates romping through the house beyond the closed door.

“Okay, Harry Potter,” Louis said, only making Harry roll his eyes. 

“Serious, Lou. I just -” he licked his lips and shook his head, a smile pressing at the corners of his lips as he curled in tighter to Louis’s body. “This past year, since I met you, it’s felt like something outside of this realm. Something magic. I want to find something to remember it by.”

Written out in a novel, Louis would have scoffed. But laying there in a warm halo of rumpled sheets and pink cheeks with Harry whispering the words like they were a secret - Louis never forgot the feeling. 

They found Harry’s magic later that day: a shop of handmade snow globes infused with glitter instead of snow and scenes from Eugene instead of Christmas. Louis can still picture the way Harry looked at the snow globes that day, his fingers dancing over each one as he tried to pick his favorite. “Magic?” Louis whispered in his ear so the shopkeeper couldn’t hear and Harry just turned and kissed him, an answer in itself.  Louis bought Harry the one he loved most, a hand painted street through the downtown area with their favorite coffee shop and bookstore painted in painstaking detail. “Why that one?” Louis asked later, when they were alone. “Where I first knew I loved you,” Harry said like it was nothing, capturing Louis’s heart again and again in just one sentence.  The story gets a little worse from there - a moving mishap and a shattered snow globe less than six months later.They came back to the market every year after but could never find the snow globe shop again. Of course, like another cruel joke from the universe, until now. 

“I can’t believe it’s here,” Harry says as his stride overtakes Louis and he walks up to the edge of the tent.

“Yeah,” Louis says softly. Every part of seeing the stand back amongst the stalls is reminding him of Harry, of what they had together. He’s not sure if Harry is having the same visceral reaction or looking at it in much more simple terms: something lost is finally found. 

Whatever magic existed there the first Christmas seems to have vanished as they look around. The shop keeper is younger than the one they first met, his eyes fixed on his phone as they do a lap around the tent. The snow globes are still done by the same artist, Louis recognizes the style.

“Do you remember when it broke?” 

Louis looks up from one of the snow globes at Harry’s question. Maybe they are remembering this in the same way after all. “Kind of,” Louis says. “I mostly remember the crash and the way you looked when you saw it on the floor.”He mentally slaps a hand over his mouth. What a foolish way to admit the way he remembers Harry - never in the terms of what was happening but how Harry looked, what Harry said, how Harry felt. Then again, Louis is a fool - bound to fall on the sword of his own foolish ways. 

Harry nods, drops his eyes to where his fingers were drawing over a snow globe nearest him. “I almost started crying, honestly.”

Louis feels a lump in his throat; he doesn’t want to hear what Harry has to say next. “Why’s that?” He manages to ask. 

“Thought it was a bad sign, a terrible omen.” He looks up and his eyes are light green in this snowy light and Louis can’t look away. “Our magic snow globe burst into a thousand pieces.” 

Louis huffs a laugh that doesn’t feel like joy in any part of him and nods vaguely. He clears his throat. “Do you want another one or - ?” He regrets the question immediately.

Harry sighs quietly and says, “No, not anymore,” as they head out of the tent. Louis feels the words like fingers pressing a bruise.

They continue on through the market at a steady pace, make passing comments about nothing important. Louis feels hopelessly defeated by the situation. There’s no ease when they speak to each other, each word is tested and then put forth slowly, each reaction carefully gauged lest they give away a secret. 

Louis is the one who gave his secret away first last night. He turned his cards out on the table as Harry discovered the ugly truth: he is the secret Louis has been keeping from everyone.  In return, Harry has let nothing slip and Louis can’t figure out the right words to ask him to. He knows there’s something lingering in Harry’s life he isn’t talking about, knows it in the same way he knows the constellation of seven freckles on Harry’s right knee. He’s known since Harry walked through the kitchen door nearly a week ago but he hasn’t cracked the code as to what it is yet. For all the ways he once cared for Harry, this one is selfish: he wants to know he’s not alone in this lingering pain, he wants to know that, at least a little, on some level, Harry has struggled with all of this too. 

Instead, Harry just peruses homemade fudge and glass-blown ornaments like this is all a quaint vacation from his real life, like even Louis being there doesn’t bother him at all. Louis wants to shake him, poke his forehead, step on his toe, beg him to say if he feels anything when he looks at Louis now - if there’s regret, pain, hatred, ghosts. Or, if all of Louis’s worst nightmares are true: when Harry looks at him he doesn’t feel a single thing. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry sets down a wrapped package of fudge and moves along to the next shop. He can’t stop replaying the scene at the snow globes at the start of this aisle. On each repeated version his head plays, he hates the excitement in his voice when he stopped to show Louis the stand was there, he hates the way he scoured the selection for one like his. He only hopes Louis didn’t see the way his hands shook while they stood there looking. He prays his voice didn’t break when Louis asked if he wanted to buy another one - like they were replaceable trinkets from the store. Harry didn’t know what to say beyond, “No,” because the truth is there will never be a replacement for what he lost, what the snow globe meant to his feeble heart. 

They press up through the rest of the market in relative silence, the snow globes doing nothing to break the icy walls they’ve built around themselves. He wants to ask Louis why he didn’t tell anyone about them - how that could ever be easier than telling the truth - but he can’t find the words. He can’t seem to start any conversations with Louis as it stands - as much as he wants to. Louis was, has been, and is, always the best at bulldozing awkward moments with a blunt comment and sweet smile. But he hasn’t done it to Harry - not since he’s come back. With a sinking heart, Harry wonders if he doesn’t know what to say either or just doesn’t care enough to try. 

It’s early evening by the time they’ve trudged all the way through the market. Harry would say trudge is the only appropriate word for it. Neither one of them has bought anything and they haven’t managed to string two words together since the snow globes except for, “One second,” when they pause at a shop. 

“Should we walk back through campus?” Louis asks once they’ve reached the end. 

Harry is surprised by the question considering all of the silence but he agrees easily. It’s another Eugene tradition, walking through campus during the holiday break, all of the lecture halls and dorms done up in festive lights. They didn’t appreciate it much as students but have managed to make their way back post-grad each year to wander through. It’s not something Harry expected them to do together this year. 

Campus is barely a five minute walk from the market and there’s something sacred about the moment they cross the invisible boundary to the outskirts. This is where it all happened. Where Harry decided to be a nurse, where Louis knew he wanted to do something with literature, where they met each other and fell in love. Offhandedly, Harry tries to imagine one day retuning here with his future children, should they care enough to want to learn about their dad’s past. He can’t picture a scene where he gets it right, where he doesn’t look around the ever-changing landscape of this college town and connect it to the man walking next to him now, to all the ways they fell in love and then fell apart. 

In so many ways, campus is different than even the last time they walked through, more so in structure than anything else. There are new buildings to replace old ones and they point out the places where they remember certain things existing - the man with the bright orange bicycle, the street fair in the Spring, the LGBTQ club meetings. It’s the first time this week they’ve managed to acknowledge so much of the past in happy tones. It’s like no matter what happens, or has happened, this will always be their shared history, something they can’t erase or will away no matter how hard they may try. 

As they walk, Harry tries and fails to not think about the moments he and Louis shared on campus, the ones no one else will ever remember. The midnight walks from the library, the afternoons on the quad reading in the grass, the rainy days he stood outside the English hall waiting for Louis’s classes to be over. The first time he kissed Louis on campus was on a bench near the Science halls - such an odd memory to still stick after all this time. They had kissed plenty before then, in front of people and alone, but there was something so sacred and different about a kiss before class, having his boy on his lips as he sat through a lecture. There was something so ordinary in the kiss, something Harry loved. He wanted ordinary kisses from Louis Tomlinson for as long as he could have them - though he’d never complain about the demanding kisses in the heat of a moment, cold kisses in the morning, sloppy kisses in the middle of the bar. He wanted them all for life - or he thought he did. His heart sinks at the mere memory of the things they let slip away from them, the way their hearts turned their backs on the forever they thought they wanted. 

Heart sick over where their story started, Harry is about to ask if Louis is ready to walk back up the hill to Niall’s when Louis beats him and speaks first. “Are you hungry?”

Food. Their one center point amongst a tumultuous stream of nonexistent conversations and half-chewed memories. “Yeah,” Harry says. “I could eat.” Could is an understatement: he hasn’t eaten all day. 

“I wonder what’s open on Christmas Eve,” Louis muses as they walk away from campus and toward the center of downtown. 

“Rigby,” Harry says, “The all night diner. Don’t you think all night includes holidays?”

Louis glances at him and shrugs but it seems like an accord. “Maybe. Might as well check it out.”

As the blue night fades to black, the streets seem to go quiet: shops closing and restaurants dark as people take to houses and banquet halls for holiday celebrations. _People_ except for two boys under the age of thirty who have absolutely nowhere to be, wandering down the quiet streets. 

Rigby, the all night diner, stands proud and illuminated on the corner of 3 rd and Pettygrove and Harry can’t help his smile when Louis grins. “Good call, H,” he says. 

It’s a traditional diner in every sense: menus ranging from pancakes to steak and everything in between, sticky tables and dull lighting, a jukebox in the corner. It used to be a hangout for students, hungover breakfast or one last beer after the other bars closed. On a holiday and with the students gone, it’s closer to empty than Harry has ever seen it though there are a few tables with small parties. 

“Hi gentlemen,” a waitress calls out from behind the front counter when they walk in. “Grab menus and find a seat. Come up here to order when you’re ready, we’re short staffed for the holiday.”

The both wave their acknowledgement and Harry grabs two menus from the holder then they circle around to a booth near the jukebox. It’s quiet except for an old Queen song as they look through the menu. Louis looks at it like he’s never seen it before, while Harry can’t help but glance cautiously over the edge of his own menu to watch him. 

“Think I want a burger,” Louis says, setting his menu down finally. 

“Me too,” Harry agrees to hide the fact he hasn’t actually looked at the menu yet, his eyes distracted. 

“And a beer?” Louis asks, already sliding toward the edge of the booth. “I’ll go order.”

Harry nods and then he’s alone as Louis wanders over to the front counter. He follows him with his eyes but looks away when Louis starts charming the waitress, leaning one hip against the counter and grinning at her. Harry was never the jealous type, not when he knew he had every piece of Louis already. Louis could charm everyone they met but he saved his softest, most genuine bits for Harry only. Now, it’s a little harder to see his ease of laughter with a stranger when he can hardly crack a smile at Harry. 

Harry does have a penchant for impatience so eventually he leaves his coat at the booth and heads for the jukebox as Louis finishes their order. The songs haven’t been updated since they were in college, even the most recent ones faded and outdated. It feels like a time capsule as he uses the button to flip through the record covers. The most modern part of the machine is the fact it takes credit card which he’s pleased about as he tries to pick a song. He doesn’t let himself linger over songs too long, knowing it means he’ll never pick one. He ends up with “Run-Around” from the Blues Traveler because it feels like his childhood, like riding around in the car with his mom when they were going to the grocery store in another new town. 

Louis is walking back to the table as Harry sits down again, two pints of beer in his hands. “This is your pick?” He asks like he already knows. 

“Yep,” Harry says, slipping back into his side of the booth. “Felt like a throwback.”

“I’ll say,” Louis says. He sets one beer in front of Harry. “Cheers?” 

Harry can’t help the odd look on his face as he lifts his beer. “To what?”

“How about my birthday?”

“Shit,” Harry whispers. 

Louis laughs like he can’t help it. “What?”

“I shouldn’t be making you buy your own beer on your birthday.” As soon as the words are out, the unspoken elephant of the things they shouldn’t have done to each other dances around between them. 

“Next round is on you, okay?” Louis says, hardly a question though he waits for Harry to nod. 

“Cheers to you,” Harry says and like his mother always told hm, he looks Louis right in the eye as their glasses clink, their gazes holding even as they take a sip. 

“This is nice,” Louis says, setting the beer down. “I haven’t been here in awhile.”

“Really?” He says though he can’t imagine Louis would hang out at a dive diner on his own.

Louis doesn’t pretend to acknowledge Harry’s surprise which seems reasonable. “Reminds me of finals in college, coming here in the middle of the night for pancakes.”

“Pancakes and bacon,” Harry says immediately. 

“Because there are few things in this world sweeter than dipping perfectly crisp bacon in warm syrup.”  Harry grins as Louis finishes the thought for them. “It makes my mouth water thinking about it.” Louis smiles and for a moment it feels like they’re on the same team again, something that buoys Harry’s heart for one moment.  Louis’s smile fades and he takes another sip of beer. He bites his lip like he’s considering something then asks anyway. “Do you remember when I was a senior?”

Harry knows exactly the story he’s thinking of - not his entire senior year but one memory. This is part of their shared history, all the same stories twined together in one rope. One question and Harry can remember entire nights. “Fall?” He asks though he knows.

Louis nods. “You had that miserable cold but when I said I wanted a study snack, you were convinced you were coming with me.”

“Couldn’t let you go alone,” he says. His voice is disgruntled but his eyes are light. He knows this story already but it’s almost sweeter in Louis’s memory. 

“High as hell off cold meds,” Louis intones biting his lip again. “Then you just passed out right in the booth before we even ordered.”

Harry laughs at the memory. “I just remember sitting down and being so proud I’d made it out of the house. Then I wanted to rest my eyes.”

“Then you were gone,” Louis says, a sweet smile as his eyes fade to somewhere distant for a moment. 

What Harry doesn’t say is that he doesn’t remember falling asleep but he remembers waking up. Louis crouched at the edge of the booth, running his fingers through Harry’s hair and pressing kisses to the highest point of his cheek, his forehead. “Sweetheart, time to go home,” he was whispering when Harry managed to open his eyes. Sick and bleary but Louis still kissed him softly on the lips while he woke himself up. Two days later, Louis had the same cold and he never blamed Harry though they both knew he was responsible. 

“A lot of memories in one place,” is what Harry lands on and it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. 

The waitress interrupts momentarily with their burgers and then she’s off again, running to the next table. Harry has just taken a bite of a too hot fry when he realizes Louis is staring at him silently. “What?” He asks even as he chews, too curious to be polite.Louis looks so serious, it’s hard to not be nervous. 

“I was just wondering,” Louis says, slowly as though each word needs to sink in. “If you’d tell me more about Chicago.” 

Surprise must rocket up Harry’s face to reflect the way his heart jumps. He’s already told Louis about Chicago. 

“But the truth this time,” Louis says and Harry’s guard just…drops. There’s nothing like a reminder of all the ways Louis once knew him to still be able to call him out on his bullshit like he’s known the truth all along. 

“You don’t think I was telling you the truth?” Harry asks lightly though it’s too late - he knows he’s been caught. 

“Maybe you were,” Louis says. He takes a fry from his plate and chews for a moment. “I think you might have smoothed the edges.”

Harry purposely takes a bite of his burger so his mouth is occupied while his brain scrambles. Has he let anyone in on the truth? No. Not even his family knows about the way his new life tortures him, about the way he wakes up in the middle of the night shaking and broken.  “It’s hard,” Harry says. “It’s a lot harder than I thought.”

If Louis is surprised by the blunt force of his statement, he only shows it for a moment. “The job, or?”

“All of it,” Harry says with his eyes on a tomato hanging halfway out of his hamburger bun. He pokes at it with his finger. “The job is,” he swallows and still can’t look up as he tries to figure out how to end that sentence. “This job is all kids and all trauma and it’s worse that way. I hate not being able to help any patient but one who is so small? One who only knows to depend and trust in everyone else is worse. They depend on me to make the pain go away and sometimes I-” he doesn’t realize he’s lost his breath until he gasps. 

“Hey,” Louis says realizing it at the same time. “Hey.”His hand finds Harry’s in the center of the table and he squeezes his fingers. “Take a breath,” he says quietly. He squeezes Harry’s hand again and Harry tries his best to match the exact pace of it with his lungs. Finally, he looks up. 

Louis’s face is painted in the sweetest concern, his mouth drawn tight as though he’s trying not to say anything else. Harry can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He may not have let Louis into every secret he keeps but he sure as hell didn’t manage to keep a cool facade either.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “Guess, like... I don’t really talk about it much. Harder than I thought.”

For all his half sentences, Louis must hear paragraphs because he nods and slowly pulls his hand back to his side of the table. “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Harry nods and pokes at the tomato again. He knows Louis is trying to force a conversation but maybe not one that opens such a can of worms. Harry shouldn’t have said anything about the job when he’s still in such a fragile place. Determined to save some grace, he clears his throat. Louis looks up from studying the table. “I really like the city of Chicago,” Harry says. His voice is a little odd to his ears, a little forced. But, if Louis is going to try to help them build a tight rope between their burned bridges, he’s going to try too. 

Louis nods, encouraging but not pressing. “Yeah?”

Harry tries to think of all the positive things. “My apartment is in River North which is a really nice part of the city. It’s walking distance from the actual river and I like to walk down there. Especially in the summer when it was so humid, I would go down and get iced tea and then just wander.” He feels like a disjointed guide book with not much worth anything to say.

“Humid?” Louis wrinkles his nose, “Sounds terrible.”

“It’s sticky,” Harry agrees, mirroring Louis’s nose scrunch. “But it would cool off and be perfect at like, three in the morning. Oddly.”

Louis’s eyebrows flicker, “Three? What were you doing up at three in the morning?”

Harry opens his mouth and then closes it. He keeps setting his own traps and then falling into them. “Between shifts,” he says, “It’s nice to walk.”  Louis hums and politely doesn’t point out what Harry has left out: three a.m. is not the end of a shift or beginning of another. It’s the middle of the night no matter what way he cuts it. 

Harry can’t think of any other positive things to say so he takes a drink from his beer and another bite of his dinner. It’s like this conversation is taking a highlighter to all the things wrong with his life, underlining them in bright pink. “How are things here?” He asks. He’s curious and he wouldn’t mind letting Louis try to avoid the craters of the truth for once. He’s not so naive to know there are craters in Louis’s life: last night was proof by itself. 

Louis doesn’t seem surprised by the question as he sets his beer, more than half gone, on the table. “It’s good, yeah. Being the buyer is more difficult than I thought it would be but I like the challenge.” As much as it sounds like the answer to an interview question, Harry knows Louis is being truthful.“I spend a lot of time writing the state for grants to afford more books. But I also get to help pick out what books we want for the reading programs so it’s been good.”

“That’s great,” Harry says. At risk of sounding like he doesn’t care, he waits for Louis to meet his eyes. “I know how hard you worked for that position. You deserve it.”

Louis’s eyelashes flutter and he focuses somewhere on the table next to Harry. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He’s never been the best at taking compliments though Harry used to hand them out at every opportunity. 

“You see Niall much?” Harry asks before the moment can hang. 

“A bit,” Louis says. “He stays pretty busy with school. You remember.”

Harry smiles. Niall is always the first to volunteer at the school where he teaches: lead the after school drama program, coach the girl’s soccer team, take the science club to the coast for a marine biology project. “He loves it.”

Louis grins at him, something they can agree on. “He’s completely natural at it too. I can’t imagine him doing anything else.”

Silence falls again as their smiles slip and they finish their beers. They could leave now, pay their bill and trek back to Niall’s quiet house. For some reason, nothing has ever sounded worse. “Next round on me,” Harry says before Louis can point out the lingering decision of what to do next. He slips out of the booth, “Beer again?”

“Beer again,” Louis nods, though there’s something like a question in his eyes. 

Harry can’t say he has an answer but he turns away in favor of a different solution: two more beers. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis loses track after the second beer. It’s not that he’s too drunk to properly categorize the night, just that the jukebox manages to take them to another dimension. He can’t even pin point when they wander from the table to stand by the jukebox instead. All he really knows is that talking about their lives isn’t getting them anywhere, and talking about the past is painful, but music is the easiest playing field. 

“Don’t do it,” Louis says, maybe one sip into his third beer. 

“Why?” Harry asks, smiling as his finger hovers over the play button. 

He’s smiled a few times since they’ve been in the diner and Louis isn’t keeping track of that either; he swears. It’s just that he watched Harry slip toward some kind of slope earlier tonight when he started talking about work and he doesn’t want him to go there again. Louis wanted Harry to show him, tell him, accidentally let slip, what his life actually looks like these days. But when he started to get a glimpse, it wasn’t sweet satisfaction to find out it’s all not sunshine and daisies. Instead it was heart folding to know the person who he loved with every fiber of his being is falling a part in more ways than Louis realizes. Harry saying he walks around Chicago at three a.m. certainly wasn’t a reassuring factoid either. So maybe Louis is not counting smiles tonight but he’s secretly pleased with each one he catches. 

“Because,” Louis says, “I said 'Play Green Day', not 'Play the saddest song of all time'.”

“It’s not sad,” Harry says definitively, pressing his finger into the play button and then releasing it. “It’s bittersweet.”

They’ve been going back and forth like this for a few songs, requesting songs they remember from growing up. But when Louis said Green Day just now he certainly didn’t mean this song. The opening chords strike his heart with a weight and he stares blankly at Harry. Harry meets his eyes defiantly, his lips twitching. 

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road / _ _Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go._

“Oh fuck, it is sad,” Harry admits, looking away quickly. 

Louis smirks and downs a third more of his beer. “Told you so,” he says. 

They keep going through songs and beers like that, neither one indicating they should stop. They aren’t talking about anything besides music and memories tied to songs that don’t involve each other; yet Louis can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. 

In all the ways Harry used to be his lover, boyfriend, soul mate, he was always his best friend. For as kind as Harry is, he’s supremely hilarious and witty; brilliant when Louis has had enough beer to admit it. And for all the ways Louis has missed him, hated him, resented him, and longed for him in the past nine months, this is the sweetest satisfaction. It feels like they’re actually friends even as they talk about absolutely nothing; there’s just a certain joy in Harry’s laughter and in the way he teases, in the way he yells when he recognizes a song Louis has picked, and the embarrassing way he sways around the floor like he’s dancing. 

They’re listening to one of Harry’s various Dixie Chicks picks for the night and Louis excuses himself to grab them another drink. Even if pressed, he couldn’t say what number it is for either of them. When he gets back to their corner he can’t hand Harry his glass because Harry’s eyes are closed, his hands thrown in the air like he’s at church, his legs twisting around like a ballet routine no one else is in on. Louis smiles against the edge of his glass as he watches him. 

“Wide open spaces,” Harry wails as he spins, “Room to make a big mistake.” He’s smiling to himself as he sways around and Louis can’t hide his own grin. Abruptly, he stops singing like Louis has interrupted him and looks right in his eyes, the Dixie Chicks still swooning around them. 

“Hi,” Louis says, too tipsy to notice or care he’s been caught staring. 

“Hey,” Harry says. “For me?” He points at one of the glasses Louis is holding. 

Right then Louis realizes he’s drank out of both glasses while watching Harry. It’s not as if sharing spit is something they’ve ever had to be concerned about, so Louis isn’t going to start worrying about it now. “Yeah,” he says, holding out his arm for Harry to take the glass. 

“Thanks.” Harry takes a slow sip, his wide eyes still locked on Louis’s. 

Louis wants to make a comment about the shared spit but it doesn’t seem like it would make sense in this context. The moment nearly passes but Louis suddenly has to ask, has to know if Harry is seeing anyone in Chicago. The thought stops him for a moment, his ears ringing with it. It would be inevitable for Harry to meet someone else, inevitable for Louis not to know about it. It’s not his business, not his place but the barriers between his brain and his mouth seem to have taken off for the night and leave his tongue up to its own tricks. “Are you seeing anyone?” 

Harry’s eyes go impossibly wide, his beer held steady in front of his face without saying a word.

“Shit. Sorry.” Louis tries to laugh but it doesn’t come off as more than choking. “I didn’t mean to ask that.” It’s funny how quickly the wrong question can chill the situation. Louis’s heart sinks as he suddenly becomes too sober for this. He takes a drink from his glass just for something to do even though beer doesn’t seem like the right answer here. 

“It’s okay,” Harry says but Louis can’t look at him, can’t bear the shame of the question. “I’m not,” he says after a beat. “The answer, I mean. I’m not.”

Louis looks over, feels like he owes it to Harry’s honesty. “Right,” he says. It’s gone oddly quiet and it takes a moment for Louis to realize the juke box has shut off, and they’re the only ones here. 

“What about…” Harry trails off and clears his throat. “What about you? Seeing anyone?”

Louis nearly laughs but again the sound won’t come out. As if he could see someone else, could even meet someone else who could compare to the way his heart lights up for Harry. He’s downloaded a couple dating apps and never even managed to start a conversation with anyone on them. “I’m not either,” he says to save Harry from babbling the way Louis had. “I’m not,” he repeats. 

Harry nods and then it stays quiet. Going to play another song or finishing their beers doesn’t seem like the right thing to do though Louis can’t decide what the right thing to do is.  “Should we head out?” Harry asks, sounding more sober and somber than they’ve been since they walked in. Louis nods.

They gather their glasses to take up to the front bar, neither one of them speaking. It doesn’t feel like burnt bridges the way it did last night but it feels like a popped bubble.

“That was fun,” Harry says quietly once they’ve each paid the last part of their tabs and head outside into the deserted street. 

Louis appreciates the sentiment after the way it ended, the acknowledgement of the moments leading up to the crash. “It was,” he says. He can’t say it’s his favorite birthday or ranks anywhere near the top of any celebration but it wasn’t as utterly depressing as he had assumed this year would be. 

“Happy birthday, Lou,” Harry says as they start the walk to Niall’s. There’s something in his voice when he says it, something quiet, something intimate. It itches Louis’s heart. 

“Thanks, H,” he says to his feet because it feels safer than looking up at Harry. The truth is, h e has no idea what they’re doing, where they’re going but maybe they’re taking small steps in the right direction. Maybe they’re just treading water before they sink one last time. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

“You’re where?”

“Eugene.”

“Why in the world are you in Eugene?”

Harry doubts his mother knows the intricacies of this question, all the ways he has no idea how to answer. “Just for somewhere to spend the holidays,” he says. He’s not even sure what time it is considering his phone woke him from a dead sleep with its ringing. It’s still mostly dark outside though he can see snowflakes through the grey light. A white Christmas. 

“Oh, well that’s lovely,” she says. “Are you seeing Louis there?”

Harry closes his eyes and still can’t find the right words. “Maybe,” he says because it’s easiest.

“Honey, that’s great,” she says, voice too honest. It hurts somehow. “I know you won’t tell me what happened but maybe it will be nice to see him again. I’m sure he misses you too.”

Harry nearly laughs. He’s never told his mom how much he misses Louis but her last word hints she may already know. “Yeah, maybe.” He feels like the despondent son with nothing to say but he’ll beg the excuse of dawn if she asks. 

Their conversation dawdles and then draws to a close as his mom rushes to a Christmas dinner on the other side of the world. “Talk soon,” she says, “Love you always, proud of you.” 

He wants to cry but he doesn’t dare let the emotion slip into his voice. If only his mom knew about the situation he’s gotten himself into, the true reason he’s here. He wonders if she would be proud still. “Merry Christmas, mom,” he says with all the strength in his lungs he has left. “Love you.”

He holds the phone to his ear long after she’s disconnected. His heart is so heavy these days, his emotions constantly close to unraveling but he has to keep it together. For now, he’s just thankful a phone woke him up instead of a nightmare. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Harry is long past the childish joy of Christmas but there’s still something special about the morning. With his family, there was always the anticipation of making breakfast all together and Christmas movies. The Christmases he’s spent with Louis’s family were a new kind of joy - enough nieces and nephews to make it feel like they went back in time with contagious excitement. This year, in heart breaking fashion, it feels like any other day as Harry gets dressed. Even knowing Louis is staying one room over, loneliness is the only cloud over his head. 

Harry’s gotten used to their morning routines of not seeing each other so finding Louis standing at the bottom of the stairs fully dressed almost makes him miss a stair. “Merry Christmas,” Harry manages rather than “What are you doing?” Which is the first thing that barges through his mind. 

“Merry Christmas,” Louis says. He shifts and rubs his hands together and Harry reads nerves. For some reason, it makes his stomach swoop low. 

“Where are you headed?” Harry asks, finishing his way down the stairs. 

“My landlord called and said I can get into the apartment to start moving stuff out.”

“On Christmas?” 

“On Christmas,” Louis confirms. “I don’t think they were expecting me to take them up on the offer to stop by.” He swallows and shrugs, “Not like I have anything else going on.”

Harry nods. If this was a movie, surely this would be the part where people turn it off: two exes so emotionally crippled by their own lives, they can’t even celebrate Christmas correctly. “Can I come?” He’s not sure he was planning to ask until the words are out there. 

“To my apartment?” Louis repeats like he’s giving Harry the chance to take it back.

“Yeah. Maybe you could use some company? It’s Christmas after all.”

There’s a hanging moment where Harry thinks Louis might turn him down. Then he sighs, “If that’s really how you want to spend your Christmas.”

It’s not. Harry can say resolutely, definitively, positively this is not how he wants to spend Christmas. Then again, spending Christmas all alone in an empty house seems ineffably worse. “Sure.” Harry grabs his coat and steps into a pair of running shoes and then they’re out the door before he can even think about getting a cup of coffee or something to eat. Seems fitting for the way the rest of his life is going.

“Driving?” Harry asks as Louis heads for his car. 

“Yeah. Unless you want to walk?” 

“Driving is good,” Harry says. “Haven’t been in a car that’s not an Uber in awhile.”

Louis’s eyebrows flicker and he half smiles. “Not sure it’s changed much.”

“That’s…true,” Harry says, trying to come up with some witty to say. “Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”

Louis glances over at him as he pulls his door shut. “S’just me, you know. You’ve said worse.”

Harry chuckles then looks out the window to save himself the embarrassment. They drive in quiet until Louis stabs his finger into the radio and a Christmas song comes on. The streets are mostly empty, only a soft covering of snow on the grassy parts and sidewalks. 

Louis is absolutely correct about the state of cars being the same. The thing Harry has forgotten, though, is how attractive he’s always found the way Louis drives. It’s nothing special, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his knee. Once upon a time, the free hand would be on Harry’s knee instead, though. Harry doesn’t dwell on that now, he’s more distracted by the way Louis manipulates the wheel with the palm of his hand, the utter calm even as someone cuts him off on a turn. He looks hot, in Harry’s not so humble opinion. He hums a Christmas song to save himself from saying anything out loud. 

There are nerves rolling off Louis as they head toward the middle of town, Harry can read those too. It’s in the anxious undercurrent of his fingers tapping his knees, the tight hold of his jaw. Harry hasn’t been in this exact situation before but he knows what anxiety feels like, the heaviness in your stomach and weight in your feet as you march toward what feels inevitable and insurmountable all at once. 

“Hey,” he says as they slow at the next red light. His voice is quieter than he means and he clears his throat when Louis glances over. “How about we grab breakfast before we go? It is Christmas, after all.” Despite everything between them, he doesn’t find any joy in Louis’s struggle to keep his emotions even, to pretend like he’s not overwhelmed with the unknown damage to his apartment.

Louis eases on the gas as the light changes and doesn’t say anything. For a second Harry thinks he didn’t speak out loud and then Louis is turning into the parking lot of the Original Pancake House. This used to be their weekend place - lazy mornings followed by piles of pancakes. Everything in this town is already marked by them, Harry doesn’t know why he’s still surprised. Louis parks and turns the car off, pulls the key from the ignition. 

Surprisingly, it’s relatively busy for the holiday though they are still able to find a table. In college, the line to be seated would wrap twice around the building but they’d still wait among the rest of the kids their age, complaining about the wait as they held hands and stole kisses. After graduation, they would get up earlier and beat the rush of hungover college kids. 

They get cups of coffee and order stacks of pancakes - Harry gets sourdough and Louis gets buckwheat - with a plate of bacon to split. It’s so much like everything they used to do.  Somehow they fall into a conversation, safe areas about their families and what they’re doing for Christmas. Harry asks too many questions about Louis’s sisters but it seems like he needs to in order to keep up with them all. He’s missed talking to them - even if he would just FaceTime over Louis’s shoulder. He loved when Louis would get all huffy because the girls would ask for Harry’s advice, and he always smiled as the youngest twins screamed bloody murder when Harry and Louis kissed on camera since they were in a phase of being disgusted by any signs of PDA. 

The pancakes, when they arrive at their table, taste even better after all the beer from last night. Harry doesn’t even realize he has a mild hangover until he feels the sweet relief of carbs and caffeine. He tells Louis how he talked to his mom this morning and about his sister’s latest adventures but in the back of his mind, he wonders about telling the truth. He hasn’t told anyone why he’s here, he hasn’t told anyone about the nightmares and the anxiety. Even as he talks about the harmless things, he wonders about the sagging weight of his secrets and what would happen if he said them aloud, poured them out right here at this table. But then, as quick as it all began, their plates are empty, the bill is paid and they’re back in Louis’s car. The secrets go quiet in Harry’s mind and he doesn’t dare shake them awake. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

The first time Louis asked Harry to move in with him, they were drunk. Louis was a senior with months before graduation, Harry a junior with another year of school to go. He was also in the middle of making a decision about renewing the lease on the three bedroom house shared with two other nursing students - something Louis thought he shouldn’t do. “Fuck the house,” Louis said as they left a campus bar somewhere near midnight. 

“What house?” Harry asked with furrowed eyebrows as he pulled on his leather jacket and let the door shut behind them, blocking out the bar noise. 

Louis got distracted by his absolute beauty for a moment and pulled him in by the lapels of that jacket, kissed him right on the lips, tasted all the alcohol they had managed to consume in the course of only a few hours. “Fuck the house,” he repeated. “Let’s get an apartment and live together.”

“What?” Even drunk, Harry managed to be surprised, his voice syrupy slow and lips kissed red. 

“Move in with me,” Louis said. “Then we can fuck without having to worry about who hears.” Harry laughed and kissed him hard again and they ended up making out against the bar for another ten minutes before making their way slowly down the street, the topic forgotten.

Louis asked again the next morning, after Harry had thrown up from his hangover and Louis had made him plain toast to ease his stomach. “Move in with me,” he whispered when they were back in bed. 

“So we can fuck really loud?” Harry croaked, his morning after memory still sharp. 

Louis smiled against his bare shoulder, “So I can take care of you,” he said quietly, sincerely. “Because I love you.” 

“Even when I throw up?”

“Oh especially,” Louis said even as he tried to hide his disappointment at Harry pressing off the question as a joke. Sometimes he did that, made serious things into jokes like they didn’t matter, like Louis didn’t spend all week agonizing about asking.

“Okay,” Harry said then as he set his empty plate on the night table. 

“Okay?” Louis repeated.

“Okay, let’s move in together,” he said. He scrunched down on the bed until they were laying side by side, Louis’s hand tracing aimless circles on his stomach. “Because I want to take care of you, too,” Harry whispered like a secret just for them. Louis turned his head and kissed the soft underpart of Harry’s jaw. “And because I love you,” Harry said. "Unbelievably so."

That perfect morning had been something like 5 years ago. They’d blended their entire lives into one - got rid of Harry’s bed in favor of Louis’s and then trashed Louis’s couch in favor of Harry’s. Where there used to be two of things, they decided on just one. It was a hodgepodge mess of styles and colors but it made sense to them.  Louis loved the quiet intimacy of their new life together. Things like their mug collection: Harry’s nursing school mug and Louis’s library mug sharing space with the bright green, oversized mug Harry brought from his mom’s collection and a messy hand painted one from Louis’s brother. Their mugs wouldn’t have made it in any kind of home decor magazine but it was a collection that was distinctly theirs. Louis used to get a twist of his stomach when Harry would drink from a mug that had originally belonged to him. Nothing possessive over the mug but just over their lives - he’s mine, and this is ours. 

When Harry left, though, all of that seemed to hurt more than it had ever felt whole. Every turn of their old apartment held Harry’s ghost, everything Louis touched seemed to hold a memory he couldn’t touch, couldn’t bare to think about. That’s why he had to move - first to Niall’s and then to a new apartment. He was living with ghosts and there’s nothing to trip a broken heart like a grocery list in Harry’s handwriting under the couch or his hair tie in the bathroom drawer. 

Now, as he pulls into the parking lot of his new complex with Harry in the passenger seat, he can’t help but feel the dark circles of ghosts returning to hurt him in new ways; reminding him of all the ways he’s still broken. Even on Christmas. 

“Should we go see your new place first or check the damage on the old one?”

For some reason, Harry’s voice surprises Louis even though he’s well aware of his presence - has been for over a week now. “Old one,” he says. “I want to know what I have left.”

Harry nods and gets out of the car like he’s on a mission. This is Harry in these situations and always has been: he takes control and walks forward confidently. It’s like he doesn’t trust himself to pause once he starts and Louis has always appreciated it. He would rather drag his feet and face the ugly parts of life at his own leisure but Harry heads right in, two feet jumping off the ledge. “Can’t know until we find out,” he used to say. For all the changes Louis sees in him, it’s an odd comfort to have this part still be the same. 

Harry pauses at the front door for Louis to catch up and let him in since he’s the one with a key. “This is a nice place,” Harry says as he follows him to the elevator. 

Louis looks around at the high ceilings and wood floors, contemporary lobby furniture no one ever uses. “It is,” he says. Easier to agree than say he rented it without having ever seen it, that he just asked for a studio and took the first thing available. 

It feels like a death march as he presses the right button in the elevator and they go down to the basement. Louis should have known it was a bad sign when he moved into a renovated basement apartment but he’d been on the bad side of desperate for somewhere to go. 

“Ready?” Harry asks when they pause in front of the correct door. 

“Guess so,” Louis says, fitting the key in the lock. 

The first thing he sees, hears, when the door opens is two giant fans blowing cold air around the apartment. He jolts slightly and his shoulder bumps Harry’s at the surprise. “Sorry,” he murmurs, stepping into the space and allowing Harry to follow. “They must still be trying to dry it out,” he says. 

“Did they already pack for you?”

Louis freezes as he takes in the apartment in Harry’s eyes. There’s a bed and nightstand in the corner, their couch and television in the middle and a kitchen off to the other side. But along the furthest wall are all the things Louis has ignored: Twelve moving boxes stacked and unopened, a wall he pretends he can’t see. 

This was a mistake. He knows it immediately as he crosses the room and turns off the fans for a distraction, the humming sound going silent as Harry waits for an answer. He didn’t think about what Harry would see when he walked in, what this must look like.

“Water damage doesn’t seem too bad,” Louis says, still ignoring the question completely.There’s discoloration on the bottoms of the boxes that looks like damp cardboard and the carpet is still wet which doesn’t bode well for the things under his bed but all in all it’s not as bad as he had been imagining. Everything is unplugged, the cords hung over higher surfaces and he cringes when he sees the carpet pulled back near the bathroom door.  He moves toward it, distantly aware of Harry moving toward the boxes in the corner.“Oh shit,” he whispers when he sees the bathroom. The entire back wall is broken open, the pipes visible through the peeling drywall; clearly where the water damage began. Now he sees why he’s being forced to move. 

“Seriously, Lou,” Harry says from the other side of the apartment, “You barely have anything left in here. Someone must have packed.”

Louis follows his voice to the kitchen where he’s opened one of the cupboards. “What?” He asks to buy himself a moment. 

“There’s only one mug in here,” Harry says. He pulls out Louis’s library mug and waves it around. “And one wine glass.” He pulls it out with his free hand. 

“That’s,” Louis sighs, “That’s all I unpacked when I moved in.” It’s the absolute truth and he doesn’t dare answer all of the questions flirting across Harry’s face in the next moment. 

Harry sets the glasses back down and stares at Louis. “What? How long have you been living here?”

Louis shifts and looks away. “Since May.” He can’t stand the silence so he goes over to his bed, starts stripping the sheets and comforter. He’ll need to wash them before he can make his bed again, unsure who has been in here since the flooding started and stopped, what has been set on the place where he sleeps.  He’s surprised when he finds Harry is at the other side of the bed, unhooking the fitted sheet and taking the pillow case from one of the pillows. They work in quiet until the bed is stripped. It’s such an inane thing to start with considering the state of the rest of the apartment but it feels like the most manageable for the moment. 

Louis can’t make eye contact with Harry so he goes to his closet instead, inspecting his clothes which seem mostly untouched. The dirty laundry basket on the floor of the closet is sopping wet when he pulls it out. He takes it to the bathroom to set it in the bathtub as he hears Harry rifling through the boxes again. Louis would yell at him to stop if he had an excuse that would stand up against any of Harry’s questions.  When he comes out of the bathroom, Harry is in the middle of the studio, his hands on his hips and Louis knows he’s lost the game they aren’t even playing. “Why is nothing unpacked?” Harry asks but to Louis it sounds like a demand.

“I’ve been busy with my new job,” he says, an edge to his words that is a facade for his lie. “Not a lot of free time.” Louis waits in the quiet for Harry to bust him, to continue to break Louis wide open. First lying to everyone he knows, then living in a museum instead of an apartment. He sounds certifiably insane on paper and he waits for Harry to get it. 

“Okay,” Harry says and Louis tries not to let surprise drip from his face. “Well.” He glances away at the boxes then back to Louis. “Guess we should start moving things to the new unit, then.” He reaches down and lifts a box into his arms.

Louis could cry as he nods and turns away. Harry is anything but an idiot and he’s not missing any of the details here, Louis is more than sure of that. Louis is a mess even though he tries not to be - Harry being back has only amplified the truth. 

“Where’s the new apartment?” Harry asks next and its one thousand times kinder and more understanding than Louis thinks he deserves right now. He grabs a box too, and leads the way up to the third floor with Harry trailing behind him. 

The new studio he’s been assigned is much the same as the one downstairs which Harry astutely points out as he sets the box down in the exact same space it had been downstairs albeit three floors higher.  “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to be moved up here,” Louis says. Harry looks at him like he wants to say _well, duh_ but he just winds past Louis and back to the hallway and Louis rolls his eyes and follows. 

They stop at the leasing office on the first floor where there’s a stock pile of moving boxes, newspaper and tape. It’s not a standard amenity in the building but the apartment figured it was the least they could do to help the tenants move. “I hope they’re giving you free rent too,” Harry says, while attempting to balance five flattened boxes that are too wide for his arms. 

Louis forgets his train of thought as he watches him struggle but then, somehow, Harry manages to hold them in a diagonal position somewhat comfortably and Louis has to start talking again. “I’m planning to ask,” he says, scooping up the tape and newspaper. 

“Good,” Harry says, though it’s muffled because the boxes are covering his face. 

Louis finds himself grinning at the sight: his ex-boyfriend in a dimly lit hallway on Christmas, mostly obscured by boxes as they attempt to move from his flooded apartment. The best part is when Louis starts walking toward the elevator and Harry stays standing in the exact same place.  “You coming?” Louis asks.

“Didn’t know you left,” Harry says, somewhat disgruntled and blinded by his boxes. Then, slowly, he starts to walk forward and for the first time today, Louis laughs so hard his stomach squeezes. 

“Okay, okay,” Louis says, coming right up to Harry. “You’re never going to get there like this.” He touches his hand to help guide him but the surprise of it proves too much as Harry drops all of the boxes between them. 

“Shit,” Harry says as he tries to grab the flattened boxes again. Louis tries to help and doesn’t miss the way the tips of Harry’s ears have turned pink. It used to be a tell when he was embarrassed but Louis isn’t sure that makes sense in this context.

They manage to make it downstairs to the old apartment with far too much effort on both of their parts: trying to balance the boxes, tape, newspapers, hitting the elevator button, and Louis getting the key out of his pocket. They laugh so hard they can barely stand up by the time they walk into the apartment and it feels like a cathartic release more than anything else. Laughing, laughing hard, seems to release some of the spikes pressing on Louis’s heart, if even for a moment. 

Once they regain control of their smiles, Louis starts trying to pull things out of the bathroom to see what he can salvage while Harry sets about building the boxes. He uses far too much tape in Louis’s opinion but flips Louis off when he points it out. 

“Where should I start?” He asks when the boxes are built and stacked in a leaning tower. 

“Wherever,” Louis says, trying to open the medicine cupboard warped with water over the toilet. “It’s all gotta go.”

“How about the kitchen?” Harry says. “Based on the wine glass and mug, should only take a minute or two.”

Louis glances over his shoulder, ready to bite but Harry is smiling at him, something easy and teasing in it. “Shut up,” Louis says finally. Harry doesn’t bother with a response but he doesn’t need to; somehow his playful smile says it all.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon seem to go like that - packing and hauling things up the stairs. Louis isn’t sure he could have done any of this alone and he makes sure to mention it to Harry though Harry brushes off the gratitude in a way Louis recognizes. Harry has always had a distinct sense of obligation to help others - not just Louis - but through his entire life. He is the bleeding heart who cares too much and too fully. Louis has always worried about him as a nurse and the things he must see but cannot bear to talk about. He likes it well enough, Louis has always assumed; he’s never given it up. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Louis is in the old apartment and Harry is in the new one when he sees it. They’ve been hauling boxes for a few hours and just managed to get the couch to Louis’s new apartment. There were a few more odds and ends downstairs Louis wanted to grab and he told Harry to stay put, he’d only be a minute. Harry follows directions well so he stayed but his curiosity isn’t always down to obey. 

Since the moment he walked into Louis’s apartment this morning, he’s been curious about the pre-packed boxes. Louis said he’s been busy and though Harry knows that may be true, he doesn’t find it a believable excuse for using a single mug, a single wine glass, two plates. He peeked in one box downstairs and saw the remnants of the dishes, plates and mugs he recognizes from their life together. 

Now, though, in the quiet while Louis is gone, Harry finds his curiosity peaking again. None of the boxes are taped closed, just folded down, making them easy to pull open. Even with the door to the hallway shut, Harry glances over his shoulder before looking inside the nearest box. Immediately, his curiosity is rewarded with identifiable contents: his own. These are the clothes he didn’t grab when he left for Chicago, the boots he’d forgotten under the bed, the Kristin Hannah book he left on his bedside table. He knows what all of these things are because he’s thought of them in the last nine months, remembered where they were left.

A shoebox is wedged on the side of the box and he pulls it to the top to inspect, lifting the lid. His heart pulls against his rib cage as he recognizes his handwriting. It all blends too quickly on different textures and colors of scraps of paper but it’s recognizable all the same: the notes, letters, cards he gave to Louis while they were together. The one that catches his full attention is on the top. It’s the note he left on the refrigerator on the day he left his key: the airline, gate and departure time of his flight to Chicago. It was his desperate call for Louis to meet him, follow him, stop him; something. But, of course, that story has already been told: Louis never came. Harry quickly replaces the lid and drops the shoe box back amongst his other things. He folds the box closed and takes a deep breath. 

As Louis comes back in the apartment, last box in hand, asking Harry a question about a box of cleaning supplies, Harry’s ears are ringing: Why does Louis still have that note nine months later? Why is it not covered in some land fill on the edge of the city with the rest of the trash from the week he left? He turns away from the box completely, knowing he doesn’t have the guts to ask. 

*

Like any good Christmas celebrators, they decide pick up Chinese take out on the way back to Niall’s house. Louis said he didn’t have the energy to make his bed for the night so he’d spend one last night at Niall’s before setting up the apartment the way he wanted it tomorrow. Harry bit his tongue over the question of whether he’ll actually unpack his things or not. It’s not his business. 

“I’ll be out of your hair soon,” Louis says as they pull into the Lucky Star parking lot to get their food, a neon “Open” sign flashing over the window. 

Harry doesn’t have much to say to that so he just nods vaguely. “It’s good not to be alone on Christmas,” he says when they get out of the car. They order far too much food off the menu but figure they should reward themselves for a day of labor. They both use the excuse, “It’s Christmas” and laugh about it when they keep adding appetizers and sides to their order. 

Back at Niall’s, Harry expects Louis to take his food and run but instead Louis suggests watching Christmas movies and Harry’s surprise turns into agreement. They set up camp in front of the television, their food spread over the coffee table. Harry assigns each container a fork or spoon for serving while Louis gets the fireplace going and sorts through the ridiculous amount of DVDs Niall has meticulously organized by title. There’s no argument over what film to watch as Louis pulls out The Family Stone and Love Actually. They’ve been watching those two together for all the years they were dating and this reality appears to be no different. 

“Family Stone first,” Harry says when Louis holds them up. 

“Cry first, laugh second,” Louis agrees as he turns on the television and the DVD player whirs to life.He comes back to the couch as the previews start up. The older DVDs won’t skip the previews, something hardwired in them so they have to watch advertisements for old movies. There’s comfort in it, Harry finds; in previews he sees each year to lead up to the start of the movie. 

It’s perfectly cozy as he loads a plate with different things from each container, licking sauce off his fingers in between each. He doesn’t think there needs to be conversation until Louis’s voice cuts through lightly. “When did you say you head back?”

Harry finishes arranging a piece of broccoli beef on his plate as the previews keep playing and Louis’s question hangs. “I didn’t,” he says without offering more. He leans back to his corner of the couch and arranges the plate on his lap. He feels Louis’s eyes on his but refuses to glance over and meet them. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Even this morning when he thought he wanted to tell Louis the truth at breakfast, he realizes now he was bluffing. 

“Oh,” Louis says. “So, when are you going back?”

A year ago his persistence would have been funny but now it’s like hot coals under Harry’s feet. “A couple more weeks.”

Louis hums. “Is that all vacation time?”

Harry knows Louis is playing up the nonchalance, acting like this is just curiosity but Harry knows his strategy. Whenever something used to bother him, he had a bad habit of keeping it locked down. But Louis used to read it clearly. He’d ask casual questions until Harry would spill everything. Until Louis could help him talk through the problem and figure out what to do next. Most of the time Harry wouldn’t realize what Louis was doing until it was too late.  He’s smarter now, though, and maybe more guarded. Either way, he sees through Louis this time. “Took some time unpaid,” he says while staring straight at the television. He can feel Louis’s gaze on him but ignores it anyway. “Can you press play?” He asks, poking his fork into a piece of orange chicken with more vigor than wholly necessary. 

Louis doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t press play for a hanging moment. Harry waits for him to ask another question, waits for the moment his life becomes even more unraveled. But Louis must decide against pushing him further because after another breath, sound floods the room again: the opening credits for the movie.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

_“It was Joni Mitchell that taught your cold-hearted British wife how to feel.”_

Louis smiles at the line as Emma Thompson delivers it and glances at Harry to see if he is too. Somewhat expectedly, however, Harry is asleep on the other side of the couch. His head rests on the arm, his knees pulled up towards his chest. Louis reaches for the remote and turns the volume of Love Actually down a couple of notches. 

He used to joke about how Harry was quasi-narcoleptic - able to fall asleep absolutely anywhere at anytime - including the booths of restaurants if he wasn’t feeling well. Louis still remembers the first time Harry fell asleep _on him_ when they were first dating, They were watching _Pretty Woman_ at Louis’s apartment, still in the innocent parts of their relationship where they shared a few kisses and quiet make outs. There were butterflies at inviting Harry for a movie and then Harry showed up looking exhausted and Louis immediately felt bad about it. “No, I want to be here,” Harry said forcefully when Louis brought it up. 

“We can stop the movie if you get too tired,” he’d said as they settled on the couch, their legs touching and a blanket draped over their laps. Somewhere near the beginning of the film, Harry interlocked their fingers and held Louis’s hand in a way that made Lous’s heart race. Then, the next thing he knew, Harry was asleep, his head resting on Louis’s shoulder. Louis had never sat so still as he did for the next hour of the movie, terrified to wake Harry. It felt so special that Harry trusted him enough to just fall asleep on him. Even when the movie ended, and the credits all ran out, Louis just sat there listening to Harry’s quite breathing. When Harry finally woke up, Louis acted like the movie had just ended.

He swallows at the memory now. It’s odd how the things he hasn’t thought about in years keep resurfacing without warning. Harry has fallen asleep on him hundreds, if not thousands of times since then but that one still holds a special piece in his memory.  As the move continues, he pulls Harry’s blanket to cover his feet, tucking the edge under his heel. It’s second nature by this point to make sure Harry’s feet stay warm but it still twists Louis’s heart to do it. How many things involving Harry come absolutely natural and yet have no place in his life anymore.

There’s something so serene about Harry sleeping next to him like this. This boy he used to love, a man now by all standards, who somehow carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, his own secrets held tight. Slowly, his eyes drift to Harry’s face, the curve of his lips and the way his hair slips over his forehead. If Louis got close enough, he thinks he could still see tear tracks on Harry’s cheeks from the ending of Family Stone. Louis likes to think he’s as emotional as Harry but the truth is when their eyes tear up, Harry is the one who will let the tears fall, while Louis will bite down on his tongue to keep them in. Feeling like he’s taking something that’s not his by staring, Louis focuses back on the movie, ignoring the sleeping figure next to him. 

“No.”

Louis jolts when Harry yells, his voice loud and clear against the movie. He looks over immediately but Harry is still asleep, his eyes shut and mouth slack. Louis watches him a moment longer, curious if he imagined the voice.  There’s just one quiet moment and then Harry’s left foot jets out straight into Louis’s stomach, catching him off guard again and making him lose his breath.“Jesus Christ,” he whispers as he pushes Harry’s leg back to his side of the couch. Harry’s knee is stiff and won’t fold so Louis moves further away, giving up his own comfortable space. Harry’s always been a sleep-thrasher but never at the expense of Louis’s internal organs. 

Again, he waits until Harry has settled back into sleep and then goes back to the movie. It’s getting close to the end - the nativity play - and Louis’s favorite part. Hugh Grant’s character is running through the streets, knocking on doors and Louis is so into it, he doesn’t even hear anything wrong at first. The first thing to draw his attention back to Harry is a kicked foot, followed by the second as Harry tries to escape the blanket around him. 

Louis catches his feet to protect himself but even as he holds them, Harry seems to struggle, his legs moving and twitching. He takes note of Harry mumbling and immediately knows something is wrong. “Don’t,” Harry gets out between the mumbled words Louis can’t understand. 

“Harry,” Louis says, firm but without yelling. He draws one hand up Harry’s calf and squeezes. “Hey, H.”

Harry doesn’t wake as the mumbling gets louder, “Don’t” is followed by “Stop” and then “Code” with unintelligible words mixed in. A nightmare. Louis’s never seen Harry act like this but he’s slept with enough terrified little sisters to know what this is. 

“Harry,” he says louder. He takes his hands off Harry’s legs to stand up but somehow it signals something else to Harry’s system. He kick his legs and propels himself off the couch, his forehead knocking the corner of the coffee table as he slides to the floor. There’s not even a moment of hesitation before Louis is on the floor with him, take out containers tipping with abandon as Louis crawls over Harry’s body. 

Startled awake, Harry twists and tangles further in the blanket. Louis slides forward and grabs his biceps to hold him still, “It’s okay,” he says, “You’re fine. You rolled off the couch.  There’s not much room in the gap between the couch and the coffee table which leaves Louis with one knee on either side of Harry’s body. Harry stares at him like a fish caught in a barrel, his chest heaving. Louis pulls his hands back, realizing he’s still holding tightly to Harry’s body. 

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, his hand lifting toward his forehead. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, “Fuck.” Again without hesitation, he pushes Harry’s hair from his forehead to see where he hit the table. “Think you must have had a bad dream,” he murmurs as Harry’s eyes shut. He runs his thumb over the angry red spot on Harry’s forehead, the one he thinks may turn into a bruise. 

“Ouch.” Harry’s eyes open under the pressure and he winces. “That hurts.”

“Shh, I know,” Louis says, pulling his hand back slowly. He inspects the rest of Harry’s face slowly, taking in the curve of each feature, the distinct way Harry won’t meet his eyes. “Let me grab some ice.” Louis gets up carefully, trying to keep their bodies from touching which means he does a near gymnastics routine to get up off the floor. 

His heart is pounding as he walks into the dark kitchen, flipping on one light and going to the freezer. He had felt such brazen fear just now at seeing Harry move the way he did, like a man possessed, the way he slipped from the couch. Eight years together and he’s never seen Harry act like that, so not in control of his own body. It’s a terrifying update after nine months apart. 

There’s no ice pack in the freezer so he fills a ziplock with cubes and then wraps it in cotton towels to take away the cold sting. Back in the main room, Harry has closed all the take out containers and turned off the television, folded the blankets like nothing has happened. He’s sitting on the couch, his feet flat on the floor and his head in his hands. “Brought you some ice,” Louis says to announce himself.

Harry is up quickly, taking the pack from Louis and mumbling, “Thanks,” still not meeting his eyes. 

Louis swallows and doesn’t quite know what to say. If this was still his Harry, he’d pull him in close and wait for the answers to spill, kiss his forehead and sit in silence if that’s what it took to heal this pain. But the Harry in front of him is not his, and Louis doesn’t know how to handle it. 

“Going to head to bed,” Harry says, flat out not acknowledging what has happened. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Louis can’t help but ask. Harry may be a nurse but Louis is scared and fear hurts. 

“I’ll be fine,” Harry says. “This happens a lot.”

“Hitting your head?” Louis asks incredulously. 

“The dreams,” Harry says. He meets Louis’s eyes, “They're called recurring nightmares.”

Louis opens his mouth and then closes it, so unsure what to say or how to react. Harry doesn’t give him a chance to figure it out, he’s already moving past him, ice held in his hand. 

“Goodnight,” he says on the stairs but Louis can’t respond. “Thanks for the ice.”

He’s thought something was off with Harry since he arrived; something unexplainably strange about his appearance back in Eugene, his half answers, the darkness under his eyes. But this seems like something bigger than he expected and he hates how helpless he feels.

He ends up sitting on the couch late into the night with his mind replaying the spasm of Harry’s body, the words he repeated again and again: stop, don’t, code. Even repeating them doesn’t make them clear, doesn’t pull the rest of the night together. Louis doesn’t know how long he sits on the couch before he manages to go to bed, his heart ineffably heavy in his chest. Upstairs, he glances at Harry’s door and wonders if he’s fallen back asleep yet, if whatever demons he fought downstairs are still lingering,


	5. Chapter 5

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry lays awake after he thinks he's heard Louis’s door shut. He’s on his back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling in just his boxers. He can’t stop replaying the rush of emotions from downstairs. The blinding fear of another nightmare, the singing pain of hitting the table head first, and suffocating confusion of waking up on the ground. Then there was the straight rush of pleasure at finding Louis holding him followed by the stampeding mortification at the realization of what he’d just revealed. 

Even thinking of it sends blood to his face, embarrassment and shame slipping up under his cheeks. No one was supposed to know about the dreams, the way his body tries to fight his mind and wakes him up terrified. Even his therapist hasn’t actually seen the way the nightmares disrupt his life - she’s only been told by Harry. Harry, who still tries to hold onto some semblance of integrity even in therapy, laughing like this is funny when in truth he’s scared to close his eyes sometimes. 

He shouldn’t have fallen asleep downstairs in the first place - not when he’s as tired as he is, more susceptible to nightmares. There was just something about being warm, comfortable, and full that made his eyes heavy. The familiarity of the movie playing and even Louis’s quiet laughter in the background lulled him to sleep. If someone pressed hard enough, he could say it was because he felt safe. If only he’d known the embarrassment waiting for him on the other side - the roller coaster of emotions he wishes he could take back. Louis must think he’s certifiably crazy, a bit unstable or, at the very least, barely holding it together. 

He assumes he’ll fall asleep again eventually but eventually doesn’t come. He sits up when it feels like he’s becoming more alert rather than relaxed. He runs his hands over his face and back through his hair before hauling himself up off the bed. He pulls on a pair of sweats and a zip-up sweatshirt he doesn’t bother zipping at all. In Chicago, he usually takes to the streets when he can’t sleep, but Niall’s house is big enough he thinks a lap around downstairs will work well enough. He doesn’t particularly want to go out in the snow anyway. 

Louis’s door is partially cracked and Harry hesitates midway to the stairs. He’s mortified to face Louis but in this dizzy time between midnight and morning, everything feels more manageable. He’s vulnerable enough to admit he wishes he could walk in Louis’s bedroom, curl up on the bed, and let Louis push his fingers through his hair until he falls asleep.  Ignoring his own weakness, he continues on. His socks muffle his foot steps as he tiptoes down the stairs. The best part of snowy nights is the way all the white outside lights up the darkest hallways, even the moonlight dancing through the tall windows. He pauses at the front window to take it in, his face pressed to the glass. He strains his eyes to see past where the porch light ends, the dark abyss of the edge of the yard. In Chicago there doesn’t seem to be any endless darkness like this; there’s always a streetlight around the corner. Harry likes the way all that darkness feels.  The glass is cold to his forehead so he doesn’t last long before he pulls away to head for the kitchen. It’s the same path he took just over a week ago, before he knew who else was living in this house. 

He pushes open the kitchen door and pauses in an upside down sense of deja vu: once again, Louis is on the other side of the door.  He’s sitting at the kitchen counter with nothing but moonlight flooding the space. He looks over right as Harry walks in but there’s no surprise on his face; almost like he’s been expecting to see him. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says. His eyes linger over Harry’s middle and Harry realizes he still hasn’t zipped his sweatshirt. His fingers stumble as he lines up the two tracks and slides the zipper up. Louis smirks, “Come sit?”

Harry lets his eyes drop from Louis’s face to his grey hoodie and the bowl in front of him, the jar of peanut butter and tipped over bag of chocolate chips. “You can’t say no,” he says and with just four words it’s a rush of heart ache inducing memories as Harry half smiles. 

Peanut butter, chocolate chips, and midnight: the ingredients for Harry’s favorite indulgence. It started when Harry was a kid, in a new town every year, trying to make friends with kids already building social circles. He used to not be able to sleep and he’d wander the halls of their rented houses at night, his mind running in circles. When his mom caught on to his insomnia, they’d sit together at the table and eat a scoop of peanut butter with chocolate chips sprinkled on top. It didn’t solve all the problems, but it was a moment of safety he used to crave, used to wait for.  It kept his anxiety at bay when he started college too - when the classes were harder than he thought and finding a way to fit in was still a struggle even at eighteen.Then it helped him when he met a boy named Louis and got too nervous to even text him back, staring at his phone around midnight, a spoonful of peanut butter poised in the air. Then, a few months later, when he was sleeping over at that same Louis's apartment after they’d just traded _blow jobs_, and Harry was riddled with the familiar wakefulness, he sought out the same three ingredients again. Rummaging around Louis's kitchen in the dark was how Louis found him. Harry explained the details with the peanut butter, chocolate chips and late nights - even as he was sure he was about to chase Louis away for good.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t such a tragic ritual anymore because Louis was with him. It became their time together, their after-sex snack or study break. When they graduated and started working, they’d meet in the kitchen in the dark, sit side-by-side and share stories from their day over their favorite midnight snack. What started as a few simple ingredients of peanut butter, chocolate chips and midnight gained another ingredient over eight years: Louis Tomlinson.  Harry hasn’t continued the tradition in Chicago, doesn’t even buy chocolate chips or peanut butter at the grocery store anymore. It just seemed missing the crucial ingredient, missing Louis, made it more sad than anything.

Now Harry sits down on the stool next to Louis without saying a word. Like a see-saw, Louis automatically gets up. Harry’s mouth opens to stop him, assuming Louis is leaving, but then he pauses: Louis gets a second spoon from the drawer and comes back. “Here,” he says, sliding it to Harry. 

“Thanks.” He needs something to do with his hands so he reaches for the jar of peanut butter, taking a small scoop. It’s all an art by now - too much peanut butter will fall off the spoon immediately.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Louis asks, watching him. 

Harry shakes his head, not wanting to meet his eyes. He’s still worried about the pity he thinks he’ll see there - it’s the last thing he wants from anyone. “No. You neither?” He sprinkles a few chocolate chips on his spoon. He’s not sure if Niall had this supplies on hand or if Louis bought it. Maybe he doesn’t want to know. 

“Not really,” Louis says. He leans forward on the stool and rests his elbows on the counter. “Didn’t think I’d be hungry after we ate the entire menu of Chinese. But, sweet tooth, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says, taking a small bite of the peanut butter creation on his spoon. Louis is the one who always loves ice cream, could eat a whole batch of cookies himself if he had no self control. He used to steal Harry’s dessert and always took extra cake at the weddings they attended together. None of that can be easily forgotten, even if Harry wanted to try. Still, it catches a soft spot when he admits what he knows, when he acknowledges how deep their history is. 

They’re quiet for a bit, Harry finishing his bite. Louis eats a few stray chocolate chips but doesn’t add more peanut butter to his spoon.

“Harry,” Louis says finally and Harry almost chokes in surprise - at hearing his name and the soft way he says it. 

Slowly, he looks over. 

Louis is staring right at him, blue eyes light even in the dark. “If you want to talk,” he says quietly, “You know I’m here. I know we’re not … I know we’re not anything but I’m always going to care for you, okay? Anything I can do, say the word.”

Harry just keeps staring back at him because he can’t think of a single other thing to do with his face. Here in the quiet, dark kitchen across from the one person who used to know everything, he feels the weight of the secret he’s been carrying since he arrived in Eugene, the weight of the life he leads in Chicago. He’s done pretty well at holding it up, hiding it in the corners of his mind and under his stomach. But suddenly, here with the chance to let it all drop - it feels imperative. It feels like he can do it and come out the other side, can be honest and no longer sink under this weight 

Carefully, he balances his spoon on the counter and crosses his arms so his forearms rest on the cold granite. “You know how Chicago has a huge problem with gun violence?”

If Louis is surprised Harry has started talking, he doesn’t show it. “Yes,” he says. 

Harry nods and then he has to look away, has to talk to the wall on the other side of the counter. “A gunshot wound is trauma,” he says slowly. “And I knew that. But I didn’t think I’d have to work with very many considering my specialty is pediatrics.” He takes a deep breath and tries to block the images pushing in from the corners of his mind, the ones that haunt his dreams. “But I do, I did. What people don’t realize when they pull a gun on the streets, or shoot up a house party or try to gangbang, is there are always kids around. Always. Kids who get hit by stray bullets or get pushed down in a melee of people running. Kids.” He whispers the last word, his throat so thick with emotion. 

“One of my first patients was a girl with a thick burn on her arm from being scraped by a bullet because her dad was selling drugs out of their kitchen and the deal went wrong. It fucks you up,” he says, “to see that. To see worse than that. Sometimes kids aren’t just scraped.” He trails off because he can’t start to illustrate with words the things he’s seen. 

“H,” Louis says softly, “You don’t have to keep going.”

Harry doesn’t look over but shakes his head. He needs to finish this. “A couple weeks ago, we had a shooting call.Gang related, they thought. The victims all came in via ambulance and they yelled for the pediatrics team for one of them. I was the closest one so I went up to receive the patient first while the doctors talked with the EMTs. But right away, I knew. I knew there was nothing we could do. Sometimes you just know.” He feels like he’s speaking in a trance, unsure if his sentences are making sense at all. He just knows he needs to say this. “I stopped listening to the EMTs and just grabbed the kid's hand and it was so small in mine. He was so cold. I knew it was bad.” 

He shakes his head, lost again in the memory of dark brown eyes on his, the air freezing as he jogged along the gurney back to the emergency room. “I just held his hand as everyone was trying to do something to save him but I couldn’t move, couldn’t help. He wouldn’t look away from me.” Unwittingly, unwillingly, Harry feels tears welling in his throat and he closes his eyes. He’s less surprised than relieved when he feels Louis’s hand on his forearm, slipping over his wrist and then to his fingers to hold his hand.Louis squeezes and Harry keeps going. 

“He couldn’t talk but he didn’t look away from me once. Everyone was rushing and yelling but I just squeezed this little boy’s hand and tried to figure out what I could say before he died.” He heaves in a breath that makes his chest feel full of gravel. “Because I knew that’s what was going to happen. I’ve seen too many kids with bullet wounds to know which ones will get away with a band-aid and what ones won’t.”His breath shakes as he inhales, " And then, while I was still looking at him, squeezing his hand, he did die. His eyes closed, his grip loosened and I absolutely lost it. You can only helplessly watch so many kids die before you lose your fucking mind.”

Louis doesn’t nod, doesn’t move, just stares right at Harry. 

“That’s why I’m here,” he says. “Because I was hysterical to the point where I had to be taken off the floor and sedated. I couldn’t even walk by myself, they had to drag me.” He has to take a moment to catch his breath, the echo of his own screaming in is head. “I met with my supervisors the next day and tried to put in my resignation. They didn’t take it - they put me on mental health leave.” He swallows and takes another deep breath. “They gave me six weeks to figure out what I want to do, what’s healthy for me. They could have thrown me halfway down the road but they’re giving me a chance.”  He takes his hand from Louis’s and wipes a stray tear from is face. “It’s just… It’s so hard to watch kids in pain and not be able to help. And I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I thought I was.” 

Louis nods slowly. “Harry.” He glances down and when he looks up again, his eyes are teary but he blinks it away. “I don’t know what to say, H. I wish I knew something to make it better.”

Harry nods. He wasn’t expecting a fix or magic words; he just wanted the weight off his chest for the moment.“I haven’t,” he shrugs and sniffs once, “Haven’t told anyone.”

“I understand,” Louis says. A quiet moment hangs before he asks, “And the nightmares?”

Harry swallows. He forgot that’s how this all unraveled in the first place. “Those started over the summer,” he says. “There’s not much to be done besides sleeping pills I refuse to take and time.”

“Time?”

“Time heals all wounds,” Harry says ruefully and Louis rolls his eyes though it’s not necessarily a joke. 

It’s a lie, Harry thinks as they sit there in the silent dark, snow dancing out the kitchen window. Time doesn’t heal wounds, time reminds us of the things we’ve lost with each passing beat, all the good things we can’t have back. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis perfectly remembers the first time Harry told him he wanted to be a nurse. They were still in the earliest stages of dating, when they used to exchange odd bits of information like a desperate plea to learn each other. The push, push, push where secrets and wishes poured out in hopes the other person would look at them and think they were important enough to care about it. 

“I want to be a nurse,” Harry said over dinner at an Italian diner near Louis’s apartment. Louis almost missed it because he was caught up staring at the tag still pinned on the side of Harry’s sweater and realizing Harry had worn a new sweater for their date. “I want to save people,” he said. There was an edge of pride in his voice and right then was when Louis started to understand what puppy love felt like. Harry could have said he wanted to be the garbage man because he wanted to clean the streets and Louis would have felt just as irreparably taken by him. 

As their relationship moved from new sweaters and dinner dates to eating peanut butter naked and losing track of their clothes in odd places, Harry’s love for his projected career path never wavered. Louis knew it was hard - the classes, clinical rotations, internships - but he also knew how much Harry loved it, reveled in the challenges.  Louis was right there as it got harder, when Harry actually started his first year at Sacred Heart Hospital in Eugene. The hours were hard but Harry loved it, absolutely loved working with patients, figuring out ways to help them. Louis didn’t have to guess either; Harry told him. They’d lay in bed and he’d get this funny smile. Louis would always question it, ask what he was thinking. “I never thought this would be my life,” Harry would say, or some variation thereof. “A job I love, the man I love, all mine.” 

Louis knew there were bad days and he knew the stress was starting to eat at Harry even before he left for Chicago. But sitting up in the kitchen at Niall's house and listening to his breaking point felt like the end to a slide Louis didn’t know he was on. The things Harry loved most about his job are the same ones that tore him apart: being there for patients, figuring out what’s wrong, realizing there’s nothing you can do. It’s scarily similar to how Louis felt watching tears slide down Harry’s cheeks right then: wanting to do something, anything, but, instead, having nothing to offer. 

His alarm is what startles him from his stupor of replaying their kitchen conversation. He forgot he had set it in the rush of yesterday. It was meant to give him an early start on moving the rest of his stuff, on starting his new life in a dry apartment. Except now, after last night, it seems cruel to sneak out under the cover of dark without a word. He meant it when he told Harry he would always care for him - eight years of feelings don’t turn into mist without warning. Caring for someone doesn’t mean abandoning them in their lowest moments; Louis is smart enough to know that now. 

So, he doesn’t. I nstead, he gets dressed and heads to the market in hopes to find something to make Harry feel better. He’s the only one in the grocery store parking lot and, subsequently, the only one in the store as he gets fresh donuts from the bakery in the back and a bottle of the organic orange juice with extra pulp that Harry always likes. Life doesn’t get fixed with breakfast, Louis isn’t an idiot. But he knows the power in finding out someone cares about you when it feels like you’re completely alone and he wants to give Harry that. 

Harry appears in the kitchen in the midst of Louis taking breakfast out of the bag in semi-perfect timing. Louis hardly notices the timing in the moment considering Harry has forgotten what a shirt is, his bare skin uninterrupted from face to his flannel pajama pants. Louis’s eyes trip over the curve of his hips and then back to his face. He’ll never be immune to Harry’s body.

“You’re here,” Harry says. He has a hoodie in his hands and he pulls it over his head, mussing his hair even more but, thankfully, saving Louis from addressing his butterfly tattoo instead of his eyes. 

“I’m here,” Louis says, smoothly he hopes. He uses his wrist to move his hair from where it touches his eye. “Sounds like you’ll be in Eugene a bit longer,” he says lightly. “And I’d feel terrible if you were locked in this house all alone.”

Harry’s eyebrows flicker a question because he can read Louis easier than Louis can sometimes read himself. Yes, he feels bad for Harry. Yes, this is partly due to what they talked about last night. Yes, he’s pathetic. 

Louis looks away and clears his throat. “It’s breakfast, okay? Don’t make it weird.”

“Wasn’t,” Harry says. He pats at the top of his hair like it will take some of the volume from a hard sleep. 

They sit side by side at the counter like they did last night, two donuts on each of their plates because they never claimed to be on any sort of diet.  “Sleep okay?” Harry asks to cut the silence.

“Okay,” Louis says. He’s not sure if he actually slept or just laid still long enough to make himself think he did. “Did you…,” he trails off, unsure what to ask after all Harry shared last night. “Did you fall asleep again?”

“Yeah.”

Louis watches as Harry tears off a bit of his donut then folds it in half before eating it. “Do you have the, uh, nightmares every night?” Maybe he’s not supposed to ask about this in daylight but it’s too late now.

Harry chews slowly, blinking twice in a slow cadence. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says when he swallows.

“We don’t,” Louis agrees. “But, like if you want to. I don’t want you to think it’s weird.”

“Right,” Harry says, his gaze back on his plate. 

Maybe it is weird. Maybe Harry regrets telling him about it and now Louis is just pressing into wounds he has no business even looking at. He’s not going to feel bad about it, he decides as he eats. He’s trying to be nice and if Harry doesn’t want to take it - that’s his problem. Louis is trying to be _helpful _and Harry doesn’t even- 

“It doesn’t happen every time I sleep.”

Louis looks up again, surprised by Harry’s voice. Once again, he’s read him wrong. “Oh.”

“Makes it hard to combat when you’re not sure when it’s going to happen, you know?”

“That makes sense,” Louis says even though he has no intel about anything nightmare related. He runs his thumb over the edge of his coffee mug, “Are they the same every time or different?”

“Different. Usually take place in the hospital though.”

Louis nods. “And they’ve been happening awhile?”

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty common in the field. Trauma nurses have protocol to see therapists weekly at my hospital. Or like, it’s an option. And I’ve been doing it for awhile.”

“That’s good.” It feels like something he should have known about Harry - that he sees a therapist. Instead, it’s another window to a house he can’t make out; all the things he no longer has the privilege to know. 

“It just turns out talking about it only vaguely helps. Doesn’t get rid of kids dying right in front of you. Sorry,” he tacks on the end. 

“Don’t be,” Louis says easily. Not that it’s an easy topic but he doesn’t want to make Harry keep quiet about it. He can see what it’s doing to him - has been able to see it long before he realized what it was. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, 

They finish eating, metal forks on glass plates, ceramic mugs on granite counter tops. “I thought you’d be gone already,” Harry says when Louis has just taken his last bite. 

He chews slowly, wondering what side of the truth to stand on and choosing the right one. “Was planning to be,” he says once he swallows. “But I thought maybe you could use a friend.” He gets the acute pleasure of watching Harry’s reaction to his words, the way his eyes somehow widen, his lips parting in gentle surprise. Feeling like he’s betrayed a secret, Louis stands up and takes his plate to the sink. 

“Do you need help unpacking? At the apartment,” Harry asks, coming up behind Louis with his own plate and mug. 

Louis can’t be sure if Harry is ignoring the part where Louis said he could use a friend or if this is how he’s choosing to politely respond to Louis’s overshare of unshared emotions. Either way, he doesn’t have a perfect answer and mumbles through some semblance of, “No, it’s alright, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Seriously? I’m offering to help you with manual labor and you won’t let me?”

Louis bristles at the tone but when he looks over his shoulder, Harry is grinning at him. It’s this lopsided grin Louis used to love, the one that brought him to his knees a time or two (or two-thousand). “You can come if you want,” he says,“But don’t feel like, obligated. That’s not how most people want to spend a vacation.”

“I’m not most people.”

God, isn’t that the truth. If Harry were most people, he certainly wouldn’t be offering to hang out with an ex or help them unpack boxes of all things. “I know,” he says.

“Plus, I can only sit in an empty house with my own thoughts for so long. Think of this as _you_ helping _me.” _That is one way to look at it though Louis isn’t convinced it’s the right one. Harry clearly takes Louis’s silence as having made a compelling argument, a smile playing softly on his lips.

As Harry leaves the kitchen, Louis feels the regret of agreeing to let him come. He doesn’t really want Harry digging through his boxes and imprinting himself on the new apartment – that’s exactly what Louis has been running from for nine months. Still, he doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry to stay here, that he’s changed his mind and is sentencing him to house arrest at Niall’s instead.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says to himself as he wipes off the counter of stray crumbs and rinses out the sink. “A heart broken idiot.” Saying it out loud doesn’t make him feel any better, instead it makes it feel a little bit more real.

*

Before they can leave, Louis has to pack up the stuff he’s been keeping at Niall’s for the past week, collecting his books and stray sweatshirts from around the house. He strips his bed and changes the sheets, pulls the curtains down and replaces his used tooth brush with one from Niall’s supply of guest necessities.

Harry helps him take his bags to the car and then they set off. For Harry’s part, he doesn’t seem too affected by what he told Louis overnight, or what happened during the movie. Instead, he seems more relieved than anything, tapping his fingers on his thigh, humming to the radio. Louis would dare to say he seems lighter and happier than he has since he arrived. Then again, maybe that gives himself too much credit. All he did was listen to Harry, and he’s not sure when that has ever changed the world.

The new apartment looks just as they left it yesterday, boxes and things scattered all over the place. Even looking at it feels exhausting though Harry seems ready to go. “Where should the dresser go?” He asks, already clearing a path between where the dresser sits near the kitchen and the open space where the bed has been lazily half-assembled.

The way Harry doesn’t look up as he asks the question makes Louis wonder if this is just as weird for him, if he regrets the offer just as much. “I think by the window,” he says, motioning to the far wall. Getting to work will make him feel better he thinks, finishing this part and finally settling in. 

Harry puts his hands on his hips and pushes his lips out as he observes the wall. “I feel like you’ll hit it when you come out of the bathroom,” he says, gesturing to where the bathroom is.

“What? How would that happen?” Even if the dresser isn’t over by the window yet, he can imagine the space well enough. It would take a charging bull leaving the bathroom to hit the dresser.

“Like, if you’re in a hurry,” Harry says. He starts maneuvering over the rest of the boxes to get to the bathroom as Louis stares at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Demonstrating,” he says without looking over. “See?” He enters the bathroom and exits again. “I need to get something off the bed and,” here he pretends to hit his foot on the imaginary dresser and falls to the ground, “I stub my toe.”

Louis tries his best not to laugh but it slips out anyway.  H e shakes his head. “That’s where the dresser is going.” He raises his chin, “No need to argue, it’s my room not yours.” He tries to say it playfully but they don’t seem to have arrived at that point yet because it sounds aggressive instead.

“Right,” Harry says with an assured nod as he stands back up. He swallows when he looks away and Louis feels every bit the idiot he is. They take two steps forward and inevitably fall one step back – this time it’s his fault. 

They go back to silence as they move boxes out of the way and move the dresser to its new designated spot by the window.  “I’ll finish the bed,” Harry says without prompting and Louis doesn’t even acknowledge him as he starts unpacking a box of bathroom stuff. His ex-boyfriend putting together the bed they used to fuck in is a little too far out of his comfort zone. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Louis has been largely ignoring Harry for the past hour he’s been building the bed. Harry knows because he knows most all of Louis’s tells, including the passive aggressive ones. Harry doesn’t much mind the quiet as he tries to assemble the bed frame, though. It was frustrating enough the last time he put it together.

Their last moving day together was mid-July, the dead of an impossibly hot Oregon summer. There was no air conditioning and they were running on almost no sleep as they put together their bed in the new place. There were thinly veiled jabs at each other as they tried to figure out what pieces went where and a stifling hot room to add to it. The grand finale was Harry trying to pry two pieces of the frame a part and ending up with his own fist slamming against his own eye as he lost his grip. The inevitable black eye was worth the way Louis laughed and then crawled over to him to check the injury before proceeding to make him lay back in the midst of the unfinished bed and suck him off until they were both sweaty and horny, the trials of a bed frame long forgotten.  As Harry finishes the bed frame in Louis’s new apartment, he doubts he’ll be getting a blow job as a reward. He nearly says it out loud, wondering if it will make Louis laugh before he stops himself. 

The truth is, he was so relieved to be able to tell Louis the truth last night, to finally put the words out into the world. The relief hasn’t turned to regret yet but he knows it will; he knows all great highs come with terrible lows. Right now, it feels good to tease Louis and trade playful jabs even if half the time Louis has a questioning look like he thinks Harry might crack into pieces any moment.  When the frame is done he tries to move the box spring and mattress himself but he’s not quite strong enough so Louis helps him, lining each up over the bed frame and landing them softly with a quiet thunk. 

“What can I start now?” Harry asks, overly eager to be helpful. There’s a niggling fear in his stomach that if he runs out of things to do, Louis will ask him to leave and he doesn’t want to be alone. He’s spent so long being alone, having a warm body who knows his weak spots and still manages to tolerate him seems like something special. 

Louis puts his hands on his hips and looks around the apartment, measuring it up. Harry watches, waiting. There are boxes everywhere; if Louis tells him there’s nothing else, he might just grab one and start emptying it anyway. Bonus points if it’s the one with all his old stuff in it, all the letters and notes. He’d love to see Louis wiggle out of an explanation for still having that one. 

“How about the kitchen?”

Harry tips his head to the side, “The whole thing or just the five things you had at the old apartment?” He’s smirking but it slips when Louis looks right at him. The same thing he’s caught in Louis’s eyes a few times since yesterday flashes again, something he can’t quite identify. Louis lifts his chin higher, the way he used to when he was fighting something in his head, something he hadn’t told Harry about yet. In this context, it makes Harry’s stomach swoop - how many secrets can two people hold. 

“Whole thing,” he says. He nods once. “Please.”

It only takes Harry a few moments to pull the boxes labeled “Kitchen” to the actual kitchen. "Should I just put stuff where I feel like it will go?" he asks as Louis starts in on hanging clothes in his closet. 

"Yeah, I'll move it later if I have to."

"Right." Harry nods and then sets about opening the boxes to see what's inside. 

The plates and bowls seem easiest to start with, so he does. He picks a cupboard that makes sense to him and organizes them all in accordance to size. There's chords of familiarity even in simple plates and chipped bowls. They used to joke about putting china on their wedding registry and then pretending they were royals. It's funny how easy joking about forever used to be and now a plate twists his heart in odd ways. 

The kitchen takes awhile to get through because he finds himself organizing the pantry and repairing a lopsided shelf he finds in a cabinet. He hums while he works but Louis must get sick of his humming because he turns on John Mayer while he organizes his books. Harry catches himself watching and then finds himself wondering if his books are still mixed in with Louis’s on the shelf. It was one of the things he regretted not grabbing in his rush to leave in March - his torn copy of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and a collection of Joan Didion essays signed by Joan from when she toured the west coast. Maybe they are in the box with the rest of his belongings - the box he keeps waiting for Louis to stumble across, wondering what he'll say when he does. 

The last kitchen box Harry opens is the one that seems the easiest - mugs - but it's the only one that stops him for a moment. The remnants of his old life seem to lurk in places he doesn't expect - a cardboard box full of ceramic not excluded. He doesn't have memories tied to the mugs but there's a noticeable tug at his ribs to see them all together like this. It's the same tug he used to get at seeing his and Louis's books mixed together. All these things that once belonged to them individually, once shared, and now - now he doesn't know what they are. 

It seems odd to put his old mugs from college or the hospital in Louis's cupboard so he ends up leaving them on the counter as he puts the ones that have always belonged to Louis away. When Louis comes into the kitchen he wants to hide what he's done but there's nowhere to go - his mugs separated from Louis's is undeniable. “I didn't know what to do with these ones," he says, his eyes never quite landing on Louis's face. "Since they were, uh, mine." 

Louis ignores him, opening the other cupboards and looking inside. Harry doesn't know what he's looking for but he doesn't offer to find it, waiting instead for Louis to say something this time.  “You can get rid of them,” he says finally, seemingly responding to Harry’s observation about the mugs.“If you don’t want them.”

Harry opens his mouth and then stops. He doesn’t know what to say - he doesn’t want the mugs, he understands Louis doesn’t need his mugs - but something about the easy way he says to get rid of them pushes at Harry’s chest. “Right.” When he looks up again, Louis is looking at him, seemingly waiting for him to say something else. “No, that makes sense. No one needs all those mugs.”

Louis smiles and it’s almost like he’s trying to make peace, “Don’t even think two people needed all those mugs.”

Harry smiles as he starts collecting the mugs, slipping his fingers through their handles to hold a few at once. “True.” He takes them over to sit in an empty box by the door and doesn’t tell the truth: they didn’t need all those mugs but nothing made him feel more at home than a cup of coffee in a mug that used to belong to Louis. 

“What next?” Harry asks, trying to keep his voice light as he looks around at the boxes they still have to put away. He knows Louis knows everything about him but he hopes he’s able to hide the way this one hurts a bit too much, the way mugs are making him so emotional.

“Lunch,” Louis says like maybe he knows Harry is fragile. “Let’s order pizza.”Harry nods and pretends to be moving boxes around while he tries to get himself together. “What kind do you want?” Louis asks. 

“Anything,” Harry says. “No pineapple,” he says at the same time Louis says the same: “No pineapple, I know.” They share a smile and Harry looks away to take a deep breath. His emotions are so fried these days he doesn’t know how to differentiate the mood swing from perky to on the edge of a breakdown. 

As Louis calls Track Town Pizza for delivery, Harry runs his fingers over the books on the shelf, pausing briefly where his copy of Joan Didion’s “Slouching Through Bethlehem” sits amongst Louis’s collection. His heart ache starts all over again. 

*  


It takes the rest of the day to put Louis’s apartment together and Harry is pretty sure he overstays his welcome more than once. He’s not sure how many people it really takes to put down an area rug or hang curtains but he’s not willing to go back to Niall’s empty house so quickly.  Eventually, though, there’s just one box in the corner; a box Louis doesn’t seem apt to unpack. He’s pushed it around the apartment all day without opening it. Harry knows without even asking that inside is all of his stuff that he mistakenly found yesterday. He’s sure Louis knows that too but is just refusing to open it in front of Harry. 

“One more box,” he says when everything is put away and there’s not even DVDs left to be sorted out.

“I’ll deal with it later,” Louis says without looking at it. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“You sure?” Harry pushes, “I’m here already, I can help.”

“No,” Louis says, a little hard. “It’s fine. Go back to Niall’s and take a break. I’m sure you could use some sleep.”

“Yeah, alright,” he says.

“Thank you for helping,” Louis says as they walk to his front door. “You really didn’t have to but I appreciate it all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, as earnestly as he can manage. “It’s not fair your apartment flooded but I’m glad this one is all situated now.”

Louis nods and the quiet hangs. “Don’t forget your mugs.”

Harry looks down at the box by his feet. His mugs. Right. Lifting the box, he opens the door and steps into the hallway. “Have a good night,” he says for lack of anything better. It’s much easier than saying, “Have a nice life”.

There’s no reason for them to see each other after this and that reality is more heartbreaking than Harry had appropriately prepared for. They’re broken up, not on good terms, and definitely not friends. This past week was a blip on the radar, a break in the system. Life has to return to normal now. Even if returning to normal means Harry has to take a hard look at his life, his job, his pain and figure out what comes next. 

“Night, H,” Louis says. Harry thinks there’s a tone of sadness there. Maybe not though, he thinks. He doesn’t know Louis anymore and maybe the things he used to know are wrong in this new reality. 

Harry is already walking away as the door closes. The hallway is silent except for the rhythmic movement of his mugs shaking in the box. He should have wrapped them in something. 

In slow motion, his mind starts to replay the last week - from walking in to find Louis in the kitchen, stilted silence, the macaroni and cheese and snowy mornings. Breakfast at their favorite diner and the engagement party gone wrong, yelling at each other as the snow danced around them. Christmas morning, walking through campus, dancing to the jukebox. 

A glitch in the matrix, he thinks as he reaches the elevator. There’s a bubble in his throat as he presses the down button. So much of this feels like losing Louis again except this time they weren’t together, this time Harry just got to see the ways they’re both hurting and the ways they can’t seem to get it right. He thinks he might need to get ice cream on the way back to Niall’s, might need a Nicholas Sparks’ movie, might need to cry for the first time in a long time. Life just doesn’t feel like what he hoped it would be and even seeing Louis again has only made the pain, the reality somehow worse. 

There’s an opening door somewhere behind him and then he hears his name, a perfectly familiar voice. “Harry. Wait.” 

He turns, his mugs clicking together in their box. Louis is coming down the hallway with his jacket halfway on. “How are you getting back to Niall’s?”

Harry hadn’t actually thought of it yet - had forgotten he doesn’t own a car in this new life. “Uh,” is what comes out of his mouth. “Uber maybe?”

Louis doesn’t stop walking as the elevator doors open. He passes Harry and gets on, waits for Harry to follow. “I’ll drive you,” he says. “Come on.”

Harry hesitates only a beat and then steps on the elevator as well. Maybe it’s all a glitch in the matrix, but maybe it’s not over yet. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Snow day sunsets rank somewhere above tropical beach sunsets - clear skies and a city sparkling in white, colors dancing through the sky in wide brush strokes. Louis can only watch absently as he drives away from Niall’s house. 

He can’t explain what compelled him to come after Harry in the hallway earlier. Maybe it was simply the act of giving him a ride home. But maybe it’s something else: something like deja vu of that March night all over again except, this time, Louis didn’t stay in the apartment alone, this time he followed. 

Harry had been mostly quiet in the car, holding his box of mugs in his lap. Louis couldn’t look at the mugs for too long without feeling like a complete asshole. It’s just that he didn’t know what to say about the mugs. It wouldn’t make sense for him to keep them though he felt that same sense of confusion in watching Harry carry them out the door. It was the fitting end to this past week, Louis thought. Give Harry his mugs back, drop him off at Niall’s, part with a smile and a wave. 

But then. 

But then they pulled up to Niall’s driveway and they sat there in absolute silence except for the car running and suddenly Louis couldn’t look away from that damn box of mugs. Perhaps if Harry had gotten out of the car and walked away, Louis would have been able to drive away without issue. But for some reason Harry stayed, lingered and Louis couldn’t let him walk away again. 

“I need to get a few things at the mall tomorrow,” he said. “I was going to get a Keurig machine. I’ve been wanting one.” His mouth was like a faucet he couldn’t turn off and Harry looked at him with easy eyes, waiting for the point. “You can come,” he finally got to it. “If you want. Just like. If you need something to do. Or not.”

“I will,” Harry said, cutting him off easily with two words. “I want to.” Louis nodded once but didn’t trust himself with any more words. “So see you tomorrow then?”

Louis swallowed, “Yeah, I’ll text you.”

“You still have my number?” Harry smiled but there was not just innocence behind his eyes. 

“Still got it,” Louis said slowly, trying to figure out if there was something else Harry was asking. 

Whatever it was, if it was anything, Louis didn’t find out. Harry got out of the car with his mugs clinking together as he went. Louis watched him walk toward the front of the house and then he drove away, his mind splitting a million ways at once. 

Walking into his new apartment feels odd even though it’s set up as the same one downstairs, albeit drier. There’s just some distinct differences now - like only one box not yet unpacked as opposed to enough to fit along the length of the wall. 

The other differences are distinctly Harry’s doing and Louis can spot them right away. For one - the pillows arranged on the couch and on his bed. Louis’s preference has always been to toss them and let them sit where they land. Not Harry. Harry orders them by size and by color, like a photographer might drop by. Even if this isn’t his apartment, he’s managed to leave his mark anyway. Louis kicks off his shoes by the door and notices Harry has ordered his other shoes in a perfect line, soldiers in a row. 

“Harry,” he says on a laugh though there’s no one there to hear it. 

He flips on the rest of the lights and revels in the utter silence of the space. It’s nice not to worry about Harry lingering around the corners or showing up in the kitchen. It’s nice not to hear him humming as he comes down the stairs. Louis sighs as he tells these lies to himself. 

He grabs a bottle of wine and pours a glass far too full. In just a week, he got too used to Harry’s face in his life, to his humming soundtrack. He takes a long drink of his glass of red and holds it on his tongue before he swallows. He’s felt raw since the day Harry walked out of his life and any semblance of healing has seemingly come undone in a matter of days. 

If he was smart, he’d cut off their interactions here. He’d let Harry disappear again so he can get back to putting himself together. The problem is he doesn’t want to let Harry disappear again, not yet. It’s mostly selfish but there’s just something tight in his chest when he thinks about the tired, heavy way Harry has carried himself lately and the emotional upheaval of secrets last night. He trusted Louis enough to tell him, and Louis refuses to lose that trust by running now. 

Like all ships sinking, Louis walks himself further along a plank as stands to get the last box from where it sits in the corner of the room. He has to precariously balance his wine on top as he maneuvers it but finally makes it safely to the couch. He takes another sip of wine, a deep breath, then he opens the box and realizes just how much it feels like Pandora’s secrets pouring out. 

When Louis moved out of the apartment he’d shared with Harry, he started to throw Harry's stuff in a box with no end destination in mind. He just couldn’t look at Harry’s blue suede boots where they poked out under the bed anymore and he couldn’t handle the pair of fuzzy handcuffs in the nightstand Harry used to put on as a joke. 

Because when Louis saw the boots, he saw the last good night out they had together, where they stumbled home and didn’t talk about anything - just fell onto the bed with their mouths pressed tight, Harry kicking off his designer boots as Louis unbuttoned his shirt. And the handcuffs just took Louis back to the night in January they were arguing and Harry decided to make light of it - connecting one handcuff to each of them in the midst of their argument. Louis can’t even remember the fight but he remembers the moment Harry realized he didn’t know where the key to the handcuffs were. Nothing like the therapy of yelling at each other while looking for a tiny key in a big apartment. (They didn’t find it, in the end. Harry had to use a bobby pin to set them free and by then, they were both too deflated to argue about anything.)

In the end, the box became a shrine to Harry - all the things he left behind, all the things Louis couldn’t look at without feeling his heart beating spikes against his chest. He didn’t want to _feel_ anything for Harry anymore, so packing it away was his solution.  The last thing he put in the box, the one he looks at now, is the shoebox of notes, cards, letters Harry wrote over the years and left in unassuming places. Louis takes the shoebox out and puts it in his lap, the rest of the box forgotten as he takes another sip of wine. 

It’s an acute kind of torture to look at these things. He rifles through them without lettings his eyes linger too long. There’s sticky notes with the time the coffee was made and little drawings or sweetly scrawled “love you Lou”, and there’s cheesy birthday cards and anniversary cards. His finger brushes the notebook paper from when Harry studied abroad in Greece - the letter he wrote about looking at the water and how it stretched forever, how it matched the way he felt about Louis. Louis made fun of him at the time but he’s memorized that part of the letter by now: _and when I think about forever, I think about you. _

Resting at the top of the shoebox is the note Louis shouldn’t have saved, the one he should have tossed out the moment he saw it: Harry’s hasty scribble of an airline name, a date and a time from his last day in Eugene. It was tacked on the refrigerator the day Louis found Harry’s key on the counter.

His best kept secret, the one he’ll never tell, is that after he saw the note, hedrove straight to the Eugene airport without even pausing. He parked in the front row of the tiny parking lot, his eye trained on the doors.  He knew Harry was inside, knew Harry always came for flights over an hour early even leaving from Eugene where security was lax and only took a mere moment even on a busy day. He knew it but he couldn’t make his feet move, couldn’t get out of the car. It was like there were cement blocks holding him to the seat, super glue keeping his hands on the wheel, blinders that wouldn’t let him look away from the door.  He sat there so long, he lost track of time and was surprised airport security didn’t knock on his window. Maybe they could tell he was just a guy with a broken heart, just a guy staring at the doors to the airport with the dullest hope that the man he loved and hated most in the entire world would emerge and say it was all a joke, would get in the car and say this was all a mistake he didn’t mean to make. 

It didn’t happen. 

Louis stared at the airport doors until he knew the flight had left, until he knew Harry was no longer standing on the same ground as him but floating somewhere in the clouds instead. When he drove home, he barely saw the road or the traffic lights. His heart was splintered, his mind was numb. In the apartment he took down the note and added it to the box under his bed with all his favorite notes and cards Harry had given him. He tucked it there right at the top; the final piece to their story, the ending they didn’t see coming. A handwritten note, a flight time, an airline: one heart left in Eugene, the other destined for Chicago. A tragedy Louis wouldn’t have wished upon any enemy of his own. 

He fits the the lid on the box now with a defiant kind of move. He’s supposed to be moving on, he’s not supposed to wallow. He’s not sure where planning to see Harry tomorrow fits in that equation, whether it leans more toward the moving on or the wallowing. He stands and takes his bottle of wine back to the kitchen, fitting it with a wine bottle plug to keep it fresh and reaches for a half gone bottle of whiskey instead. He pours two fingers worth in a glass and returns to the couch. Sometimes wine isn’t enough, sometimes he needs something a little bit more. 

*

The whiskey makes him dream of Harry, or that’s what he thinks when he wakes up the next morning with a boner and an ache in his chest. He’s not supposed to have wet dreams about Harry - and he hasn’t in a long time. But it doesn’t change the fact his subconscious produced a very realistic scene of him and Harry making out on a couch while he slept overnight. No words, no setting, no context. All he knows is that his dream self had Harry pinned to the couch, their hips pressed together as they kissed, as Harry gasped into his mouth. 

Now, in the morning light, it’s a hard on caused by a ghost and that seems to make his blood flow return to normal quickly. He rolls to his stomach and wills his body to get the message. He’s not about to jerk off to the same man he’s going to see in a few hours. It used to be hot but now it’s just sad and he’s working really hard on not being sad anymore. 

He texts Harry when he arrives at the store a little bit later and waits a moment for Harry to respond but it doesn’t come. Running late or running away, Louis doesn’t know, tries not to care. He heads into the store, carefully as the parking lot is still filled with snowy slush from the last week. Inside seems to be even more a danger zone. For some reason, he’d assumed the holiday shopping rush would be over but it seems to be in full swing as he moves around a customer service line for returns stretching into the main aisles. He notices a man holding his return in a bag with Santa on it and Louis realizes he didn’t even get a single Christmas gift this year. He’s sure his mom and sisters will be sending theirs in the mail later but it’s an odd realization to have in the middle of a department store. 

In his pocket are a list of the things he needs to purchase for the new apartment - or things he needed to buy for the old apartment and just never did:

-A paper towel holder because the old one broke when he threw it against the wall in a terrible moment of desperate anger at Harry having left.

-A new salt and pepper shaker set as their old one was a pair of cows Harry picked out and now breaks Louis’s heart when he looks at them. 

-A new set of sheets because, though they’ve been washed, he still sleeps on the sheets he and Harry bought together. And if he’s trying to clear his apartment of demons, perhaps removing the fabric from their most intimate moments is a strong start. 

-And finally, the Keurig but that has nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with making Louis happy. 

As he scans the store for what he needs, he nearly doesn’t recognize the familiar form standing right in front of him. Hearts can break over the silliest things and seeing Harry standing there obliviously turns out to be one of those silly things. He’s in a pair of Vans, black corduroy pants and a berry red cardigan over a white tee. He has sunglasses pushing his hair back and his fingers are pulling on his bottom lip as he studies the display of Keurig machines. Louis hates how he feels like a cookie not baked all the way through when he sees him. It’s like coming home and his worst memory all at once, and when Harry looks over and spots him, smiles and waves, Louis doesn’t feel anything less than a shell of who he once hoped he would be. 

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling as Louis walks over. “I got an early start. I didn’t know there were so many options.” It’s almost _too _Harry to compute properly - the way he showed up early and has already gotten a grip on the Keurig options before Louis even showed up. 

“Are you a Keurig expert now?” Louis asks and he can’t help his smile to match Harry’s. “Want to give me the rundown?”

“Well,” says Harry, stepping backwards to the edge of the display. “It depends if you want to just make coffee - or if you want to make cappuccinos too. Or, lattes, cappuccinos and regular coffee. So you should start with that decision.”

“I see.” Louis tries really hard to get his smile to lessen to something else. “Just coffee, I think.”

“Right.” Harry nods and slides forward, closer to Louis. “Then you can ignore that half of the display.”

“Process of elimination, I see.”

Harry ignores him and presses on. “For normal coffee, it comes down to like, water storage.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Harry says like he’s used to selling Keurig’s regularly. “So you can have this one that only makes one cup before you have to refill it. There’s a single tank,” he says, pointing to a second model, “which makes a few cups before you refill and then a double tank which is just like, tons of cups before you refill.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, “Well you’re just an expert now.”

Harry looks away, his smile slipping at the edges. “Maybe got carried away.”

“No,” Louis says like a gut clench reaction. “No, I’m kidding. I appreciate your expertise.” Harry doesn’t say anything, his eyes stuck on the Keurig machines on the display.Louis is so tired of being the one to keep saying the wrong things. “Which one do you like best?” 

Harry looks over, eyebrows flickering briefly. “It’s your apartment, not mine, remember?” Louis’s words about the dresser, repackaged and handed back to him. 

Louis takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want every interaction to end like this. “If you’re really nice, I’ll let you have a cup of coffee from whichever one I buy.”

“A cup?” Harry’s smile twitches on his lips. “Just one?”

“Just one,” Louis confirms. “I’m a library buyer, not a neurosurgeon. Not made of money, you know.”

Harry rolls his eyes but whatever tension was sitting between them dissipates in a slow rush. “I like the single tank. You can have more than one cup of coffee without refilling but you’re not running a Starbucks out of your kitchen.”

Louis nods and looks between the machines like the single tank wasn’t the one he was going to choose this whole time. Maybe he just likes to humor Harry. “You’ve sold me.”

“Really?” Harry’s face genuinely lights up and Louis has to laugh. 

“You realize I was going to buy one whether you were here or not, right?”

“Yeah, but you picked mine.”

“You say that like you built it yourself.”

“Maybe I did. Side gig in Chicago, you know. For all the nights I can’t sleep.” 

Harry poking fun at the nightmares feels a little sticky to Louis and he’s not sure what to say beyond scoffing lightly

“Now you need to pick your color,” Harry says, barely missing a beat as he grabs the card of color swatches. “A whole other animal than picking what machine you want. Trust me.”

Once they pick the right Keurig (black because Louis is predictable), they go off to find a holder for the paper towels and a new salt and pepper set. Harry doesn’t ask questions about why - he only slides in jokes and odd comments as they look around. He tries to get Louis to pick pig salt and pepper shakers and Louis ignores him in favor of a simple cobalt blue set. He doesn’t want to explain to Harry that the cows he picked last time are the reason Louis is spending twenty bucks on something so frivolous. 

In the bed section, Louis looks at sheets and Harry tests all the beds, rolling around in each and making Louis laugh. “Are you in the market for a new bed?” Louis asks as he shoves his hand in one of the sheet packages to test for softness. 

“You could say that,” Harry says. “I sleep on a blow up mattress.”

“You what?” Louis spins around with the package pressed to his chest. Harry is laying on one of the sample beds with the paper towel holder and salt shakers held tight to his chest. “What about your back?” Louis should keep everything surface, where it’s safest, but he knows about Harry’s curved vertebrae and the importance of mattress support. He’s read enough online medical journals to nearly by an expert. 

“It’s, uh, not recommended,” Harry says.

Louis bites his tongue instead of lecturing, instead of telling Harry he’ll hurt himself in the long run by letting his back curve as he sleeps. It’s not his place anymore. “Well, then, pick out a mattress. Let’s ship it to Chicago,” he says, turning back to the packages of sheets. 

“As if I could afford a six-thousand dollar mattress.”

“That’s six-thousand dollars?” He whirls around to where Harry is star-fished on the mattress, “And you’re putting your feet on it?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, “It’s a sample.”

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Louis says, rolling his eyes and smiling despite himself. 

Eventually, they leave the store and head to the food court where they buy slices of pizza and White Cherry Icees like they’re seventeen and not closer to thirty. Louis’s purchases sit at their feet as they talk about nothing in particular but make each other laugh all the same. 

Louis finds himself smiling as Harry tells a story about a patient he worked with in Chicago, how she’d fallen from a treehouse and blamed her imaginary friend. The story takes the long road to the end but Louis enjoys it all the same. It’s like for all the overthinking, all the tension, all the doubts he has, nothing really matters in the end. When their together like this - it’s just like it’s meant to be. They have demons and spikes lurking in the shadows, Louis is all too aware; but for three hours on this day, in this mall, he has a Harry he’s been missing in the worst way. 


	6. Chapter 6

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry starts the morning with an abrupt and sudden wake up - a nightmare shaking him from sleep. It’s the better kind as far as the nightmares go because he can’t actually remember what was happening in it. It’s better this way, he reasons as he readjusts in bed, his heart racing under his fingertips, sweat gathering at his hairline. It’s better not to be able to remember because he doesn’t have to see haunting images dancing around his head. He rolls to his back and pulls the covers up to the base of his neck, aligns his spine and practices the deep breathing his therapist gave him for overwhelming situations. He’s supposed to use it in the hospital under high pressure situations but sometimes his real life feels like a high pressure situation too.

Since telling Louis the absolute truth, he hasn’t had the time alone to think about it, to fixate and overthink the reasons why he finally spilled. He doesn’t want to do that now even as his mind rewinds and hangs on certain things Louis has said or ways his gaze has changed when he looks at Harry. He takes a slow, steady breath. In the end of it all, there’s no one he would have rather told. It may have been nine months since they last were able to talk about anything of significance but Louis is still the safest haven he’s ever known. Spilling secrets to him doesn’t feel like a shaky tight rope but like setting down a heavy suitcase after a long walk through an airport, like a breath of air.

Harry takes another deep breath and fills his lungs, exhaling evenly. Now that the secret is out - now that he’s said the words out loud - he can’t fixate on letting them roll around his stomach and brain. Now he has to face them for what they are - the truth: he has night terrors and the trauma of his own job has taken him so far down a path of psychological turmoil, he’s been put on leave. Then, of course, the underline on the truth: he has to figure out what to do, how to move forward. He closes his eyes and holds his breath for a few moments. All of this is easier said than ever done.

He spends the day roaming from soft surfaces - bed to the couch and back again - with trips to the kitchen interspersed between. It’s odd to be so alone in a big house though this was his intent all along, the reason he came. He wanted to be alone and to sulk in his own prison of thoughts; he’s lucky, then, Louis showed up after all. He’s already finished two books and so he starts a third, then watches a Hallmark movie in the late afternoon. It’s a perfectly lazy day where he doesn’tleave the house but it leaves him feeling dull by the time he takes himself back to bed.

He’s always been good at enjoying his own company, at being okay with missing out on a party or a trip. But having Louis back in his life - even for a brief moment or handful of days - has left him wanting more in the most dangerous way. A way that makes him question every decision he’s made, and all the ones he needs to make in the coming days. Louis, always his safe haven, his harbor, is mere miles away and Harry feels it like a drug he wants one more hit of. He resists as he falls asleep - resists a call or a text. They’ve chosen lives separate from each other and, despite a hiccup in that plan over the last week, he needs to let them separate again. Another thing easier said than done as he falls asleep with a heavy heart and a knot in the top of his throat.

*

It’s the middle of the next day when Harry gives in. Maybe it’s a sign of weakness or something worse but he can’t possibly sit in the quiet house for another day so he calls the only friend he has in Eugene - if friend is even the correct word in the context.

He paces in the kitchen as he calls - four rings and an automated answering machine. He holds his breath as Louis’s number is recited back to him then he hangs up before he can leave a message. Like he even knows what he would say. Even in the quiet of this empty house, his cheeks heat with embarrassment; shame. Louis is probably screening his calls, waiting for Harry to take his mugs and go back to Chicago already. Harry knows well enough the face Louis makes when he doesn’t want to answer a call - the rolling eyes and turning the phone face down. Harry has never been on the receiving end of that.

He’s still studying the grooves in the granite countertop when his phone shakes to life in his hand, the familiar vibrating pattern of an incoming call. He’s not sure what he expects to see when he turns his phone over - certainly not the picture of Louis that is on the screen, his name neatly written over the top.

It’s been nine months since Louis last called but it never crossed Harry’s mind to change his caller ID photo. It’s a picture Harry took once when they were in bed, their heads each on their pillows, facing each other. Louis is squinting at the camera but Harry can still remember the feel of Louis’s hand on his hip, the way his finger drew quiet lines on the curve of it even as he protested the picture. The push and pull of their intimacy, of their relationship, of their lives in one picture. Harry finds himself staring at it so long he nearly misses the call.

“Hello,” he answers on the last ring, his voice broken. He clears his throat realizing it’s been over twenty-four hours since he’s said anything out loud.

“Hey.” Louis’s voice sounds slightly strained over the line. “Everything okay?”

Harry snorts lightly as he closes his eyes. In this world, the only reasonable explanation for a phone call to Louis is in case of a terrible emergency. He’s such a fool. “Yeah, fine. I just-,” Harry inhales sharply, “I just wanted to see what you were up to today. I don’t have a lot going on, you know.” A self-deprecating joke about a leave of absence from work - not his finest moment. He’s not sure this conversation could get worse.

“I’m at work.”

There it is. Harry sinks down onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. While he’s puttering around bored and lonely, Louis is getting back to his real life - his job. “Shit, sorry.”

“I wanted to come in for a couple day’s before the New Year, finish some grant requests.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Of course.” He feels like such an idiot and wants to reverse time to never make this call. “I’ll let you get back to it.” The line is quiet and he wonders if Louis has already hung up. As he pulls the phone away from his ear to check, Louis speaks again.

“If you want, you can come see my office. I have an office now. I know that’s probably boring, so don’t feel like you have to.”

In the dark, dormant space where Harry’s heart used to rest, there’s a flicker of familiarity. Louis is rambling the way he used to when he was nervous - much like Harry’s own bad habit. “That sounds great,” Harry says to cut him off. “I’d love to come down.” The truth seems too glaring said like that but he can’t take it back. He’s always had the kind of pride in Louis’s work that fills his heart up and presses on his lungs. He knows how badly Louis wanted to be a buyer, how accomplished he must feel to have finally got the job. All while Harry had fucked off to the middle of the country without him and missed it all.A belated trip to see his new office feels fitting in this upside down reality. “Can I bring you lunch or something?” He asks.

“Sure,” Louis says. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Cool. I’ll be there, uh, soon.”

“Okay. Come to the front desk when you’re here, they’ll come get me.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he hangs up and feels more like a fool than five minutes ago. He is a whirlwind of emotions he can’t identify but, for now, he has a lunch date.

Within thirty minutes, he takes a shower, brushes his teeth, finds a nice sweater and jeans, gets an Uber to a sandwich shop near the library and places their old favorite order without missing a step. He feels a little warm from all the rushing around but otherwise, he’s alright. As the shop makes his sandwiches, he looks out the window at the rest of the shopping center, trying to figure out what parts have changed and which have stayed the same. His eyes rest on party store two shop down. He gets the sandwiches and then walks toward the store covered in streamers and helium filled balloons. He has an idea.

For all the excitement leading up to it, Harry is hit with nerves as he walks up to the library, a mylar balloon with a green string trailing behind him. It says CONGRATS in rainbow colors and he thought it was funny until the moment he reaches for the door to the library. He holds the door for a family walking out, knowing it’s too late to turn back. “Here goes nothing,” he mutters as he walks through the cleared doorway and navigates his balloon through the automatic doors he faces next.

The front desk is obvious, a young woman sitting at the ready, her eyes steady on Harry as he walks up. She looks leery, like he might have malicious plans with his mylar congratulations balloon.

“Hi,” he says when she observes him silently. “I’m here to see Louis.”

“Tomlinson?”

He nods, wonders how many Louis’s there are in this place.

“And your name?”

Three words, seemingly innocuous but they pull Harry up short. When it comes to Louis, he’s rarely had to give his name - people knew him, knew who he belonged to. Now he’s just a gangly twenty-seven year old with a balloon and some sandwiches.

“Harry,” he says quietly.

“Harry,” she repeats louder, her eyes going wider while his cheeks color pink at the attention.

“Uh, yes.”

“Thank you, Lauren.” Harry looks to the familiar voice as relief floods his body, Louis coming around the corner near the front desk.“Harry’s my lunch meeting.” Lauren, evidently the girl behind the desk, nods and goes back to her computer even as Harry thanks her for her help, albeit mediocre help at best.

“Hi,” Harry says when he turns to Louis.

“You brought a balloon.”

Harry bites his lip as he smiles. The balloon is just sounding and looking like a more terrible decision as time slips on. “Yes. It’s for you actually.”

“For me?”

“I wasn’t, um, around when you got your promotion. So, it’s a bit belated. But congratulations.”

Louis opens his mouth and then closes it. He tilts his head and presses his lips together the way he does when he’s trying not to smile. “A belated congratulations balloon.”

“Yes,” Harry confirms, his own smile refusing to hide. He offers the balloon leash to Louis with the kind of reverence someone offers a gift far more splendid than some helium, string and mylar.

“Thank you,” Louis says, finally smiling as he takes the balloon. It’s a smile Harry recognizes right away - the smile Louis used to save for him, the one that says _you’re an idiot but you’re my idiot_. As if he’s realizing the same thing, Louis quickly clears his throat. “All right, follow me. We can eat back here,” he says as he starts walking away.

Harry follows quickly though he chances a glance over his shoulder to see Lauren staring at them with her mouth open like she’s a little in awe. Harry looks away before she can catch him.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

_“And here you’ll just set the pork chop in the oil lightly, waiting for that gorgeous warm brown crust.”_

“Gorgeous,” Louis repeats quietly, lifting his pork chop slightly to see what’s happening to the side in the oil. It looks less than gorgeous, in his opinion. He leaves it to brown further with Giada de Laurentiis continuing to talk more about gorgeous pork chops in the background. He wipes his hand on the towel over his shoulder and takes a sip from the glass of wine he poured when he got home from work.

It was a good day, to say the least. He finished two of the grant requests he wanted to and had a surprise lunch guest in the form of Harry Styles. He’d been wondering if Harry would reach out to him, or if he was planning to drift away silently again. Louis felt like it was Harry’s turn to reach out first but after yesterday’s radio silence, he’d thought maybe Harry was giving up. Giving up on _what,_ Louis has no idea. He doesn’t know what they’re doing - if they’re friends or merely acquaintances but he’s trying not to dwell on it. Instead, he’s making a pork chop and trying not to smile every time he catches sight of the stupid balloon Harry brought him, the balloon Louis now has tied to a chair at his kitchen table.

*

Despite Louis’s vow not to dwell on anything about Harry, the very next day he finds himself in his office unable to focus on anything besides Harry. He’d texted him this morning before he left for work, took a picture of his deflated balloon and told Harry to ask for his money back. They’d exchanged a few messages back and forth, joking around, then the conversation had ended. Louis shouldn’t even _care_ if it started or ended but in his odd mindset of taking turns to make plans, he keeps thinking about how the ball is in his court again. And like a baseball player suddenly in an NBA game, he has no idea what to do.

Work is mostly empty considering it’s still the holiday break - just Lauren at the front desk who smiled too widely at Louis this morning. She must know that Harry is _the Harry_ Louis used to date. She started working at the library in March and though Harry never came to the library before he left, Louis said his name enough times for everyone to know him without knowing him at all. He wonders if she thinks he’s pathetic before he realizes he’s doesn’t care. He is a bit pathetic - it’s not the best kept secret.

Still. Being pathetic requires a bit of effort… like now: starting blankly at the computer wondering how to casually ask Harry to hang out. Should he care? Should he want to hang out with Harry? No and probably. All this really means is more pain when Harry inevitably leaves again but Louis is figuring out he might be a bit of a sadist where Harry is concerned and he might as well lean into it.

“Louis?”

He looks up from his computer to see Lauren in the doorway and then straightens up when he realizes he was slouching with his chin resting in the palm of his hand while staring at the computer. “Yes, hi,” he says quickly, exiting out of a Buzzfeed article he’d been vaguely reading. As if she would care - as if she can even see what’s on his computer screen.

“Carol is on the phone and said she and Caleb are stuck in Portland for the night. She asked if you wanted her Maggie Rogers tickets for the Pendulum tonight? She said she’ll transfer them to you.”

This question could have been asked everyday for a year and Louis would have given the same answer, “No, thanks.” But now, the word that his program director has extra concert tickets at the same moment he’s looking for a reason to ask his ex-boyfriend slash sort of friend to hang out - he can’t believe his luck. “Yeah, that would be great,” he says. “Thanks.”

Louis watches her leave his office and tries to bite down on a smile threatening to overtake his face. This time last year, Maggie was playing a show in Portland and Louis had been trying to get tickets for Harry and him for Harry’s birthday. He’d had a plan for them to have a weekend in Portland like they’d done so many times; a fancy hotel and the Maggie Rogers show. Except they couldn’t get their schedules to work, and all the tickets left for the show were surging over two-hundred dollars each and way out of Louis’s budget so the whole plan fell apart. And then, it was less than a month later Harry revealed he’d been looking at jobs in Chicago while Louis was trying to plan a romantic weekend. Funny the things time can do.

Louis pushes away the bitter memories and grabs for his phone. What’s in the past is in the past - otherwise he certainly wouldn’t be gagging over the chance to call Harry and tell him he has Maggie Rogers tickets. He calls Harry quickly - just H in his contact list - and revels in the sweet satisfaction of Harry’s surprise at the offer followed by, “Tell me you’re not fucking kidding. Swear it,” to make Louis laugh harder than he has in days.

“I swear it, H,” he says, finding himself smiling so hard his mouth hurts. He hangs up and feels his smile slip. This is dangerous; playing with fire, walking on a tight rope. He sets his phone down and acknowledges the risk. As long as he knows, he decides. As long as he actively knows he’ll get burned in the end, maybe it makes all the other bits okay. Or, that’s what he tells himself at least.

*

Louis meets Harry an hour before the concert to grab drinks at one of the bars nearby. While Louis came from work in his button down shirt and dress trousers, he can’t help his slow gaze over Harry when he walks in - his long legs in black jeans and a tri-color striped sweater that hangs loosely off his frame. His boots are black with red and yellow stars embroidered to match two of the colors in his sweater. He’s always had the better fashion sense of the two of them but even if Louis could pick out something so daring like star boots - he knows he could never pull them off. There isn't a version of reality where Louis isn’t physically attracted to Harry, especially not with the confident way he walks through the crowd when he spots Louis, the peek of his dimple when he smirks as he stops in front of Louis.

“Okay Mr. Fashion,” Louis says, making room for Harry to stand next to him. “Didn’t realize you were walking the runway tonight.”

Harry rolls his eyes and then places his order for a gin and tonic when the bartender stops by before he actually acknowledges Louis again with a sweet smile. “I went shopping.”

“Did you?” Louis takes a slow sip of his beer. “Finding ways to fill the days, then?”

Harry shakes his head, one of his lips caught under his front teeth for a moment. “I didn’t have anything to wear to the concert. So I went to the thrift shops downtown.”

Despite everything, Louis has to smile at the picture: Harry heading out, determined to find something to wear, piecing through his old favorite shops for the perfect pieces. “You bought all of it today?”

“I had the sweater,” he says, “And these are my jeans. But, the boots are new.”

“You’ve always been a sucker for a pair of boots.”

“No point in changing now,” Harry says. He turns slightly to take his drink from the bartender and stops her before she adds a black straw. “Trying to save the world,” he says and she laughs, moving on to the next order.

Louis almost wants to tell her to come back so he can explain that when Harry says he wants to save the world, he means it. He means it more than anyone else Louis has ever met and that’s not even the thing that attracted Louis to him the most. He finishes his beer and signals for another though he thinks his thoughts may already be sliding down the wrong paths if he’s wanting to defend Harry’s honor to strangers.

“Lou?”

Louis blinks and focuses in on Harry again. “What?”

“How was your day?” Harry’s tone suggests this isn’t the first time he’s asked.

“Pretty good,” Louis says. “Not that exciting. I finished up the grant proposals yesterday after you left.”

“Really?” Harry takes a slow sip of his drink, crushes an ice cube between his teeth. “Tell me about it.”

Tell me about it. God, this is it, Louis thinks. These are the things that are going to leave him ruined when Harry leaves again. Resisting straws to save the turtles or whatever, and asking for details on the most boring part of Louis’s job. Correction, asking for details in the most genuine way possible.

Louis tells him. He should laugh it off and say it’s boring - but he’s been saying that for so long, pushing his own interests and stories away in favor of not saying anything at all. So, this time he does. He tells Harry about the grants and learning to write the requests and the research he’s been doing. And Harry listens - he asks questions that actually relate to the material, not just to keep Louis talking. All of it makes Louis want to slide down the side of the bar to sit down on the ground. Losing Harry was the worst thing to ever happen to him; being reminded of how good it once was only twists the knife one more time.

They miss the opener of the show in favor of another drink since they know it’ll be cheaper than at the venue. It’s a small crowd when they finally get there - a concert in a college town with the student population still on break. Louis doesn’t mind it one bit. He leaves Harry in their spot and goes to the bar in the back for a beer for each of them. Maggie comes on while he’s weaving through the crowd to get back to Harry and he gets lost in the dark, going up on his toes to try and see over all the hands being thrown in the air, people already dancing with reckless abandon. Harry finds him first, pulling him closer with a hand on his waist that Louis tries his best to ignore.

“Thank you,” Harry says as he takes his drink, his voice barely carrying over the crowd. He says something else Louis misses and makes Louis yell, “What?” like he’s on the other side of thirty than he actually is. Harry doesn’t just repeat himself, he puts his mouth to Louis’s ear and says, “She’s amazing, thank you for bringing me,” and Louis hears him loud and clear; every nerve in his body hears Harry loud and clear. He can’t speak so he just nods and smiles, takes a sip of beer and focuses his attention to the stage.

Louis finds himself transfixed and anytime he so much as looks at Harry, he sees him swaying along in his star boots, singing along and smiling to all the words. The contrast to the Harry next to him verse the Harry in the kitchen on Christmas, even the Harry who walked in the door that first night - it’s jarring. It’s a scene from a movie, a scene Louis would watch again and again if he could, the happiness starting somewhere in his stomach.

Eventually the drinks make Louis need the bathroom and he runs as quickly as possible, tossing his second empty cup in a garbage as he passes one. When he comes back, there’s a smoky haze on the stage and a haunting voice: _I cannot be this way with you, I cannot fall in love with you._ Louis stops first at the sound but then he freezes at the words, at the intimate and pervasive images jumping through his head at that very moment. Harry, Harry, always Harry.

He wants to turn and run but he lets his feet carry him forward, forward, forward, back to where Harry stands. Harry has one hand in his pocket as he sways back and forth and when he sees Louis he rubs at his eye in a way that Louis knows means he’s crying. He cries at sad songs, sad movies, happy songs, happy movies. Anything that pushes his emotions strongly in one direction will cause tears. This, Louis knows, to be an absolute truth.

“Sap,” Louis says as the song ends, his smile firm as if to help himself forget that he was moments from crying only a couple minutes ago.

“Shut up,” Harry says but as he looks back toward the stage, half a smile pulls at his lips.

The next song pulls Louis in again, _I never loved you fully in the way I could_. He swallows, eyes refusing to stray from Maggie. _And it’s getting harder, I’m like falling water._ He holds his breath as the music pushes away the chorus and heads for the next verse. Falling water. That’s what this is, Louis thinks. He’s helpless to stop this motion, to change the tide as Harry falls back into his life like this. Water in a creek flowing carefully, maybe - or water at the edge of a waterfall, ready to crash. He swallows and when he glances at Harry, he catches Harry at the last moment before he looks away. Louis wonders if it was obvious, if the helpless way he still feels around Harry is obvious to absolutely everyone. If Harry could tell with one glance just how much of a fool Louis still is.

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Like all good concerts, Harry spends the morning after the Maggie Rogers' concert doing his best Maggie Rogers impression while singing in the shower and then again while he makes a scrambled egg for breakfast. With all his singing and haphazard dancing, he doesn’t hear Niall arrive until he’s in the kitchen with his suitcase, house key hanging from his hand.

“Oh shit fuck,” Harry yells when he sees him, trying to set his cup of coffee down before he dumps it on himself. “You can’t just show up,” he says as he crosses over to Niall and hugs him as tight as he possibly can, Niall’s house key digging into the curve of his hip.

“I can’t walk into my own house?” He asks as he laughs, squeezing Harry once before he lets him go. “Jesus, it’s good to see your ugly face. I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” Harry says, rolling his eyes and heading back toward his breakfast. “A lot, actually.”

“Good. Glad to know when I make an impression.” Niall pours himself a cup of coffee and pulls a chair next to Harry’s spot at the counter.

“How was home? Christmas?”

“Hot,” Niall says. “But good. Hadn’t seen my mom since last summer, did you know? Felt like a terrible son. And my nephew is in kindergarten so growing like a weed, naturally. How was it here?”

Harry finishes his bite of egg. “There was some snow but not too bad. It’s been pretty cold.”

Niall genuinely cackles, a sound so warmly familiar to Harry’s ears but missing from his life for so long. “Harry, if you think I’m asking you about the weather,you’re wrong.”

“What?” Harry takes a sip of coffee and avoids eye contact.

“Let’s see. I got code red calls from you and Louis that you were both staying here and then I never heard from either of you again. That’s what I want to hear about.”

“Oh.” Harry nods. “That.”

“That,” Niall says. The jokes are gone from his voice, and there’s an understated edge of understanding in one word.

“Louis stayed here for about a week. He moved back to his apartment a couple days ago. A new one, not flooded.”

When Niall doesn’t say anything, he looks over. Niall is looking down at his coffee and finally looks up to meet Harry’s eyes.“And how was that?”

Harry opens his mouth but the words won’t come out. It’s not possible to articulate what it was like from start to finish - seeing Louis on that first day, the emotional roller coaster of each day after, the ghosts they couldn’t escape. There’s no right way to explain that they’re still seeing each other daily, that last night Harry felt like there was magic in his star boots while listening to Maggie Rogers with an ethereal Louis Tomlinson next to him. There’s just no way to say any of that and have it sound half as significant as it was. “It was good.”

Niall nods like Harry has said so much more, a reminder of why he’s been one of Harry’s best friends for so long. “Good,” is all he says. “Good.”

“Good,” Harry repeats.

“No need to turn into a parrot.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Glad you're back.”

“I know. Are you coming out for New Year’s Eve with us?”

It feels like finding his footing and then slipping slightly. He’d forgotten today is New Year’s Eve. “Us?”

“Louis and I were planning to go to the Hilton downtown - they’re having a thing. A New Year’s thing.”

Louis hadn’t mentioned it to Harry, hadn’t even mentioned Niall would be coming back today. He’s not sure if he’s invited or an afterthought, if maybe Louis didn’t even intend to tell him about it. As if Niall can sense his hesitation, he speaks up. “It’s an open invitation, and I want to see you while you’re still here, okay? So come.”

Harry nods, “Alright.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Harry says.

“There you go with the parrot thing again.”

Harry laughs and relishes in the feeling of having Niall sitting with him again. “Alright, less parroting, more talking. Want to tell me about your life the past few months? I’ve been … out of touch.”

Niall raises his eyebrows but doesn’t point out the obvious - Harry bailed without a word and has kept up sporadic contact since. But like a good friend, he just does as Harry has asked and starts talking about the kids in his class like Harry knows them all already. Harry finishes his breakfast and thanks god for good friends despite him being a shitty one for nine endless months.

The inevitable moment of Niall turning the questions on Harry and asking about Chicago, doesn’t come because of a phone call that interrupts them. It’s Harry’s phone against the counter vibrating as they both stare at it, taking in the picture of Louis in bed filling up the screen.

“That’s Louis,” Niall says pointlessly. “Calling you.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees.

Niall stares a moment longer then looks up at Harry, seems to see something there that satisfies him as he nods. “Okay. Answer it, then.”

“Hey Lou,” he says as he picks it up. He gets off of his bar stool and paces around the kitchen as Niall finishes his long-cold coffee, listening silently.

“I’ve been singing Maggie Rogers songs all morning,” Louis says as a greeting. “I can’t stop.”

Harry can’t stop his smile. “I have been too, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Harry bites his own grin, “Yeah. I was actually having a private concert in the kitchen when Niall walked in.”

“Niall? I thought he wasn’t coming back until New Year’s. Oh fuck, is today New Year’s Eve?”

“It is,” Harry says. “So he’s back. Scared me half to death when he showed up.”

“I know the feeling,” Louis says drily. “I think Niall and I were invited to a New Year’s Eve party down at the Hilton if you want to come. If you’re like, not busy.”

Not busy is an understatement but Harry keeps that to himself. “Niall actually invited me already.”

“Well shit, I’m just behind the times today, aren’t I?”

“A bit,” Harry says, smiling again. He catches Niall staring at him and turns away. “It’s alright. I wasn’t sure if like, you would want me at the party.” Jesus _Christ_ he feels like he’s eighteen again and meeting Louis for the very first time.

“‘Course I do,” Louis says. “Free country and all, I mean.”

“Right,” Harry says, deflating some. “Was there a reason you called?”

“Oh, right. Just to see if you wanted to come over and watch a movie or go to a movie or something later. But looks like we’ve got plans now.”

That stupid smile comes back to Harry’s face. “Yeah, we’ve got plans now.”

“I’ll meet you guys at the Hilton tonight unless Niall wants to do something else. Just let me know.”

“Okay,” Harry says, as if he has any insight into the plans for tonight.

“And tell Niall I’ve missed his stupid face.”

“I will,” Harry says quietly. “See you later?”

“See you later,” Louis confirms before hanging up.

Harry finds himself smiling at the cupboards until Niall clears his throat. He straightens his face to something more neutral but Niall has already seen it all. “So you and Lou are good?”

“Good,” Harry says, the tenth time in the last hour it feels like.

“Care to elaborate?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. He says he misses your stupid face and he’ll meet us at the Hilton.”

“Alright.” Niall scratches at his jaw. “You know, before I left for Atlanta, I assumed it would take hell freezing over for you and Louis to so much as look at each other again.”

Harry presses his lips together. It’s not like he can deny how bad things were just a handful of days ago. “I know.”

Niall nods, “Okay. Just making sure I didn’t miss anything.”

“Nope.” Harry puts his dishes in the sink. “Want to watch a Hallmark movie?”

Niall grins, “God, I’ve missed you. Louis would rather die than watch a sappy romance movie, so I’ve been missing my partner in crime.”

Harry laughs loudly as he runs water in his dishes. He’s missed Niall too. He doesn’t mention that watching romantic movies together used to be one of his and Louis’s specialties. Louis not wanting to watch them with Niall is less surprising than expected. There are few things that will always just be _theirs _ and despite everything, maybe in spite of everything, Harry still likes to see which of those things remain.

*

Harry tugs on his shirt as he enters the ballroom at the Hilton, Niall right at his side. His top is another find from the thrift store - a thin black sweater that seems a bit itchy now it’s on his bare skin. He’s wearing his star boots again because they might be his new favorites. The ballroom is decorated in gorgeous tones of silver and gold, giant balloons hanging from the chandeliers and confetti falling intermittently from the ceiling like sparkling showers. It’s the fanciest event Harry has seen in Eugene even if he’s not sure who is putting the whole thing on. It doesn’t really matter as he follows Niall through the colorful suits and dresses adorning the other guests.

Like any town where you once belonged, people recognize Harry in passing. Hugs and high fives, quick “Styles, how are you?” as they make their way to the bar. It’s all quick enough Harry can smile through it without having to pause to explain himself, to drag his baggage through such a glittery affair.

Louis is standing at the edge of the bar as they approach and Harry stops short, nearly nudging a waiter into a small group of people nearby. He just can’t help the way Louis can draw him up short even after all these years. His sweater is light grey with three stripes down each sleeve, corresponding colors to Harry’s boots he notes lightly. As if Louis can feel the assessment, he turns toward them. Suddenly he grins and closes the space between them swiftly and Harry actually has the guts to step forward like maybe Louis is beelining for him. He’s thankful he doesn’t get too far before Niall beats him to it, he and Louis hugging fiercely just inches in front of Harry.

Mortified is hardly the right word as Harry slowly takes a step to separate himself from them. Why, in any context, Louis would look at him like that, or run at him like that is beyond him. He’s just lucky he didn’t step in front of Niall and act like Louis was planning to pull him in, press his face to the curve of Harry’s neck the way he used to. One good night at Maggie Rogers and suddenly Harry has lost his mind. It’s all over in a heartbeat, though. Niall whispers something in Louis’s ear and Louis nods, then they’re pulling apart and Harry is still standing there like the biggest third wheel on the platonic friendship planet.

“Harry,” Louis says as he steps away, his sweet smile telling Harry he didn’t see the embarrassing misstep.

“Happy New Year,” Harry says, taking the award for being both embarrassing and lame. 

“A bit early,” Louis says. His lips twitch, his eyes seem to sparkle and Harry really, really needs a drink. Luckily once he says it out loud, he finds they’re all on the same page.

They start with drinks at the closest bar to them and Louis asks Niall about home which leaves Harry time to glance around the party while Niall recounts the stories he’d told Harry earlier. There’s enough to stay busy besides drinking - a dance floor and a photo booth, a room in the back for karaoke and appetizers being carried by waiters in fancy bow ties. Bass rolls through the ballroom and carries each note high to the vaulted ceilings, the rush and murmur of the crowd, the excitement palpable. Harry can’t help feeling a little deflated by it all, though. Counting down to the new year just means it’ll be the first year he doesn’t kiss Louis at midnight in eight years, the first year he doesn’t kiss Louis _at all_. Break ups are terrible in that way - the crash bang ending of them. He doesn’t even remember the last time he kissed Louis, and god knows he never realized it would actually be the last. He takes a long drawn sip of his cocktail. Tonight seems to be sinking and even his star boots aren’t saving him.

As the hour progresses, Niall becomes a social butterfly and even Louis gets wrapped up in a conversation with a group of people he seems to know fairly well. Harry stays back out of nerves and a lack of anything to say to strangers. Eventually he goes to gets another drink, leaves Louis to his own life and friends as he pretends to know what he’s doing with his.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Being with Harry, Louis took for granted how easy it always was for them to talk to each other, though, to transition from jokes into something more serious. They could read each other in silent conversations, a look across a room. Louis used to be able to listen to Harry talk about nearly anything, enjoying the journey of his stories even when they took scenic routes to get to the ending. Laying in bed, Harry used to talk to the ceiling about his problems and Louis would lay right next to him listening, tracing his fingers over Harry’s tattoos.

Conversations are always a two way street and even the second avenue was as good as the first with Harry. Harry has always been an incredible listener, engaged and easily entertained; he used to laugh at Louis’s snide remarks and nod like a solid strength when Louis was having a hard time working through something with school, or work, or his family. Harry could make him laugh with one word, could squeeze his hand and silently say one million words.

He didn’t realize how badly he misses their ease of conversation until tonight. Until standing in a circle of friends from different libraries and wishing there was one person in this circle who understood him, who made it all just as easy as Harry once did. Instead, he finds himself standing there and thinking about Harry, wondering where him and his sparkly boots have ended up in the giant ballroom. He waits a few beats and then excuses himself from the group, wandering away with the excuse of getting a drink. He bypasses the bar completely and keeps walking, eyes searching for the most familiar face. The dance floor has expanded to take up more than half the room, people twirling around though there’s heavy grinding in some of the darker corners. Louis thought they left the heavy debauchery via dance in their early twenties. Maybe that was just him.

There’s a giant clock on the wall clicking toward the New Year with less than an hour to go. It’s so easy to fall into the memories of New Year’s Eves past when Louis always knew where he’d be at midnight, who he would kiss. Four years ago, he and Harry were being too socially cordial at a house party and ended up on opposite sides of a room as the clock struck midnight. Louis never laughed as hard as when they simultaneously started pressing through the crowd to meet in the middle, laughing against each other’s mouths like they’d been reunited after a war.

He spots Harry the moment the memory eases, like something from a film. His back is to the room as Louis walks forward, curious. There’s no one around Harry and he keeps glancing around like he’s in the middle of a bank heist. Harry has always been a bad liar and terrible secret keeper so his guilty glances have Louis biting down an overwhelming smile. “Hi,” Louis says when he’s close enough to Harry, laughing when Harry jumps slightly.His face moves from surprise to something softer and back to neutral in a heartbeat but Louis catches it all. “You look very guilty of something.”

Harry moves to the side to reveal what his body is hiding, a chocolate fountain and an array of berries and snacks. Harry has a skewer in his hand with a half eaten strawberry.

“Are you supposed to be stealing from the chocolate fountain?” Louis asks, one eyebrow curving up.

Harry shrugs. “They left it out here and I’m a paying guest.”

“Paying?”

Harry smiles. “Just a normal guest then.”

“Stealing chocolate and strawberries.”

“Yeah, well, I deserve it.”

Louis has to agree as he smiles. “And what about me? You think I deserve it too?”

Harry’s eyes drag over his body and maybe its supposed to be funny but it leaves Louis shifting on his feet. There’s always been something so heavy about Harry’s gaze and Louis feels every bit of it now. He must find whatever he’s looking for because he holds out a fresh skewer and makes room for Louis to come stand next to him.

Wordlessly, they skewer strawberries and pieces of angel food cake, hold them under the chocolate fountain and then take a simultaneous first bite. It’s better than divine in Louis’s mouth and only gets better when he starts to chew and finds Harry watching him with a smirk, something sparkly in his eye. In a rush, for a moment, Louis wants to kiss him. It comes out of nowhere and feels like being knocked down during a soccer game so he looks away and keeps chewing. Suddenly he regrets every single second he’s spent letting Harry back in, knowing nothing but pain waits for him now.

“Why do you think no one has found these yet?” Louis asks once the silence has stretched on through a few more bites.

“Probably because they aren’t supposed to.” Harry nods his head toward a sign above the table - DO NOT SERVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT.

Louis smiles as he shakes his head. “No wonder you looked so suspicious when I saw you.”

“I didn’t look suspicious,” Harry says, a slight affront in his voice.

“You did,” Louis says simply. “You knew you were breaking the chocolate fountain laws and still did it anyway.”

“It says don’t serve,” Harry says, “And I’m not.” He bites down on a strawberry. “Self serve.”

“Whatever you say.” Louis plucks another piece of angel food cake and eats it. He doesn’t make a habit of turning down free food, especially not decadent melted chocolate with spongy cake.

“It’s also already the New Year in Chicago, so.” Harry shrugs and Louis’s heart does a weird little twist.

Chicago. Where Harry now belongs, where he’s starting over. “Staying on Chicago time, then?” Louis thinks he says it lightly, kidding but the way Harry looks at him is much heavier than the words he thinks he just said.

“I wish I knew what I was doing,” he says.

For all the regret Louis was feeling only moments ago for letting Harry get under his skin, it disappears right then. The way Harry is looking at him doesn’t remind him of the way he used to look when they were together; he looks lost. His eyes are wide but full, telling Louis this like he’s telling a friend not a lover.No endgame in sight other than figuring out his life. And maybe it will hurt in the end but Louis can’t regret this; can’t regret being the person others can lean on, an anchor in a storm. “You will,” Louis says. “You’ll figure it out.”

Harry nods and looks back toward his last bite of strawberry on his skewer. He nods again like it’s just for himself and then takes the final bite.

Niall runs up to them like a loose cannonball as they throw away their skewers and napkins. “There you are,” he yells, one arm around each of them, his gin and tonic splashing up on Louis’s shoulder in his excitement. “Thought you losers disappeared to make out like the old days.”

Louis raises his eyebrows as Harry chokes in a way that only semi-sounds like a cough. “No, Niall.”

“Right, right, we don’t talk about it,” Niall says, his tone serious but somehow still grinning. “Anyway, we’re going up to the roof for midnight. Come!” He yells the last part over his shoulder as he takes off running into a nearby group of people who all look passively familiar like teachers he’s introduced Louis to in an effort to make him make friends. Louis waves vaguely and the group moves toward the center of the room, the escalators leading high up toward the ceiling. Louis watches for a moment, unsure what to do. Being with Harry at midnight - as friends, enemies, exes, whatever they are - doesn’t seem like the smartest choice to be making right now.

“Shall we?” Harry says, always a sucker for the rooftop (and the wrong decisions, Louis adds silently).

“Guess so. Should we grab a drink?”

Harry shrugs, “I’m fine without.”

Louis nods as they start to make their way toward the crowded escalator as suddenly the entire room starts to head for the rooftop. They’ll do better without a drink to cheers at midnight, Louis agrees. Nothing like cheers-ing to a new start with the person who ruined your last one. Louis would never say that out loud though he thinks it as they fall in line on the escalator.

The mood of the party swirls like glitter in the air, conversation fluttering, while Harry and Louis take the escalator in silence. It’s broken into three parts and they move orderly down the hallway to the bottom of the next one without saying a word. They’ve got to be the most depressing guests at the whole party but it’s not like it’s easy to suddenly be the life of the party instead. Louis is understanding it more now - the ways they are both broken, the ways they are still trying to fix themselves. He wonders if Harry sees it, if he regrets the way things swirl around the drain now, the way it feels like they’re losing grip on everything they once held so tightly to. He wishes he could ask but he has no idea how.

After what feels like an eternity, they emerge onto the roof where it’s about as cold as expected and yet somehow still surprising. “Didn’t even think to grab my coat,” Harry murmurs as Louis tucks his hands inside the sleeves of his sweater. Harry’s sweater is sheer - one of the first things Louis noticed tonight - and doesn’t bode well for a chilly night.

“Looks like there’s outdoor heaters,” Louis says. “Let’s head toward those.” Everyone seems to have the same idea though some are too drunk to really care about being cold. Louis makes sure Harry is closer to the heater than he is, an old protective streak he can’t seem to shake. Luckily the body heat of other people close in and it starts to feel more comfortable again.

“How close are we to midnight?” Harry asks, yawning.

Louis wants to make a joke about them getting old but the thought only makes him sad. The older they get, the more they’ll grow apart. It’s already happening. He checks his watch. “About five minutes off.”

“Thank god, I’m exhausted.”

“Busy day?” Louis asks. He angles his body closer to Harry, their breath mixing together as more people press in to get to the edges and see the view of downtown buildings.The view is fine, nothing Louis hasn’t seen. He feels like a jaded asshole for being unimpressed but it is what it is.

“Mostly having a private Maggie Rogers concert,” Harry says, this secret smile on his lips that is contagious. “And catching up with Niall.”

“Good,” Louis says. “I’m glad Niall made it back while you’re still here. I know he’s missed you.”

Harry smiles again, “Yeah, I missed him a lot. Life of every party, you know.”

“Oh I know,” Louis says, grinning. They smile at each other for a beat and Louis wants to ask if Harry missed _him_, if Harry has any idea of how badly Louis used to wish for him to come home, if he felt any of the way Louis aches. And if he did miss Louis too, it begs the question Louis can’t possibly bear: when did the missing stop? At what point, did he move on with his life and keep going? Start focusing on the new job and forget about Louis and their small, normal life in Eugene. So many things Louis wants to ask, wants to say - but none of them know how to come out. Instead, a massive countdown starts around them as if by magic. People yelling out “twenty” and then slowly slipping backward as time pushes them forward to the new year, the fresh beginnings Louis never even asked for.

There’s a moment before the clock strikes midnight where it feels like you should yell or do something, anything. The pressure of everyone yelling the countdown, the stark reality of time slipping through your fingers. Louis finds himself looking at Harry as the countdown hits one, as people scream out and fireworks set off around the city, as everyone around them loses themselves in a kiss. Louis has never felt so jealous of so many strangers. “Happy New Year,” Louis says.

“Happy New Year,” Harry repeats back, his smile only half there.

It’s the saddest ending and beginning Louis has ever been apart of; as they both stand there staring at each other as people fall into each other, into new memories, all around them.

Louis tries to remember back to last year, last New Year’s Eve. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty but even then, as the clock struck midnight in Eugene and he kissed Harry’s mouth and then the side of his neck, as they drank from the same bottle of champagne, he didn’t know what would be happening in the next three months, in the next twelve. He didn’t know all the things fate had already put into motion, all the ways he was about to know pain. Now, as fireworks burst through the dark night and people gasp in joy and surprise, he can’t help but wonder if Harry knew then. If he knew all the way things would break, the terrible way things would end. If even that night, one year ago, he was starting to set into motion all the bowling balls that would irrevocably knock down their pins.

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Not being hungover on the first day of the new year is something new Harry enjoys as he wanders down to his favorite coffee spot after a slow morning of reading in bed. He’s never been one to tackle all sorts of resolutions on the first of the year but, instead, believes the mantra of doing things to set the tone for the rest of the year. Relentless self-care, good books and good coffee feels like a strong start.

It’s bright but cold outside, the trees bare except some snow that just won’t go away yet. The sky is blue but it’s still only a tease with how long they have until spring. With something like a jolt, Harry realizes the start of spring will mark a year he’s been in Chicago. Even now, ten months seems like an impossible length of time.

He wanders down the paved path and tries to pick when it all started to slide downhill in Chicago, when he got so bitter. Instead he can’t seem to find the thread of when it was ever all okay. The first couple of months there were a whirlwind of finding an apartment and adjusting to the new job - riding a wave of things to do. Maybe he didn’t realize the unhappiness until the wave bottomed out but maybe it had been there all along. He missed Louis and it was an ache he expected came with the attempt to forget someone you had lodged under your heart and between your ribs for years.

The job made him happy at first despite the loneliness. Then came the sleepless nights and wounds in tiny bodies, parents falling to their knees. Pediatric nursing was always his dream and getting the job was a stroke of luck.Still, he can’t help but wonder if it was stubbornness that made him go in the end. Stubbornness to not go back on his word when he told Louis he was leaving. Or, maybe it really was the opportunity of a lifetime. Ten months in and he hasn’t figured it out.

Most places are closed downtown for the holiday but he still manages to grab coffee and a couple pastries from Salty’s before heading back to Niall’s. He figures paying Niall back in pastries is as good of a way as any to thank him for letting Harry stay.

Niall is at the table when he comes in, papers spread out and his laptop off to the side. “You’re my savior,” he says when Harry hands him a ham and cheese croissant and an old fashioned glazed donut. “Even though these are not on my new diet.”

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a seat across the table from Niall with his own breakfast. “You don’t need to diet.”

“Summer bodies are made in the winter,” he says in a voice that sounds oddly like a Kardashian. He takes a huge bite of his donut as punctuation and laughs. “I’m hungover anyway. I deserve it.”

“I was wondering where you got off to last night when we lost you,” Harry says.

“Got off to too many shots, too many beers, too many everything.”

“Hence the hangover.”

Niall nods and takes another bite. “How are you?”

“Fine, actually. Only had a couple drinks all night. Home by twelve-thirty. Just like an elderly man.”

“You’re younger than me,” Niall points out as if Harry doesn’t know. Harry smiles. “That’s not what I meant though. I mean how are you? Like, in general.”

Harry picks the perfect moment to take a bite and chews slowly while Niall waits for his answer. He knew this was bound to come up - is surprised it’s lasted this long. Niall usually doesn't wait to ask questions and prod for answers but this time he has. The thing is, in the same kitchen where Harry told Louis absolutely everything, he cannot find the words to tell Niall the same truth. “I’m alright,” he says which is relatively true. “Just taking some time off work. It’s emotional.” Not the whole truth but almost.

Niall nods like he’s accepting it but there’s an edge in his eyes that says he’s not all in. “And all this stuff with Louis?”

“What stuff with Louis?”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “Don’t play dumb, babe. You left in March without a word to anyone and Louis showed up at my door in absolute pieces. Now you show back up and suddenly you’re what, friends?”

Harry finds himself wincing at the image of Louis showing up here even if Louis admitted it himself already. “I don’t know, Ni.”

Niall watches him silently, and Harry has to look away first. “Why did you leave, H?”

Harry blinks and glances over again. He assumed this would have been covered with Louis in the months after Harry disappeared. Niall has never asked him before and Harry never offered. “You already know.”

“If you think Louis told me anything, you’re wrong. He’s a closed book, you know.”

Harry nods even though it’s absolutely contrary to the Louis he knows, the Louis who would tell him anything at the mere drop of a hat. He knows there are still pieces of Louis only he will ever know, a privilege once upon a time. “I mean, I got a new job. You know that.”

“A new job in _Chicago_,” Niall repeats. “All the way across the country. Why were you even looking for jobs out there?”

Harry opens his mouth and closes it. Feeble excuses last year seem just as weak this year. “I thought if Louis and I could move away, we’d figure out how to stay together. We were having, uh, trouble.”

Niall tilts his head, “Your relationship got hard so you ran across the country?”

Harry’s eyebrows pull together, “Not exactly that simple, Niall.”

Niall hold his hands up. “I’m not accusing you. I’m asking.”

Harry knows an interrogation when he sees one. He tears off a piece of his croissant and puts it in his mouth. “We were going to break up, okay? I left before we did. That’s it.”

“Okay. How do you know you were going to break up?”

“Relationships aren’t built on seeing the other person twice a week and spending one night arguing and the other sleeping.”

Niall nods and Harry hopes the conversation is over. “How long are you here for?”

“I have a couple more weeks off,” Harry says.

“Then back to Chicago or are you staying?”

Harry pauses in the way where you can only hear your heartbeat and blood rushing in your ears. Back to Chicago has always been the no-brainer, he never even considered the alternative: staying. It’s absurd to even imagine. He dug his roots up with a fucking pitchfork and overturned the floorboards to reveal rot and mold. He can’t possibly come back here. He nods, “Back to Chicago.” Saying it out loud sends his stomach sinking and he hates it. There’s not an alternative and he shouldn’t let himself even think about it. He made his bed, he needs to sleep in it. Even if his bed is just an air mattress in a city he’s never loved.

“Well, you’re always welcome here. Happy to have you. We love you.”

Harry has no idea who the _we_ is that Niall speaks of but he wants to cry anyway. Sitting in a dark pit and being told someone still loves you anyway is an acute kind of heartache, one that feels as reassuring as it does desolate. “Love you too,” Harry says quietly. “Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” Niall says with terrible accent that shakes Harry enough to make him laugh. “We’re starting a Spanish block with the kids after break. Think I’ve nailed it yet?”

The weight in Harry’s stomach shifts as he laughs. “Tres bon,” he says.

“That’s French.”

“Molto Buono.”

“And that’s Italian.”

“You’re very good at this game.”

“You’re a pain the ass.”

Harry pops the last bit of his croissant in his mouth. “Thanks,” he says as he chews. He knows he can’t stay in Eugene for good but, god, for that moment it’s the only thing he wants at all.

*

There are sirens outside - so many sirens Harry can hear them even from the back of the emergency room where he’s restocking supplies. He usually waits for the patients to come into the hospital before he’s assigned to them - he’s not supposed to go outside into the ambulance bay unless he’s told. For some reason the number of sirens compels him to leave behind the supplies as he heads for the personnel only doors, the short hallway to where the ambulances pull in.

It’s louder when he gets outside, the sirens making him cover his ears. There’s only one ambulance despite the way it sounds like there are at least five. Someone Harry doesn’t recognize is in front of him and he can’t read her lips. He takes his hands off his ears. “What?”

“Need you to identify the body,” the woman says, motioning to the ambulance behind her.

“Not me,” Harry says, but his voice sounds slurred and slow. “You need a family member.”

“I know,” she says.

Somehow he follows her though he doesn’t feel like he’s moving; it feels like swimming, like the ambulance gets closer to him rather than he gets closer to it. There are medics standing all around and they’re all looking at him. He notices the gurney between them, a thin sheet cast over the body. There shouldn’t be a dead body here. This isn’t the right protocol. He can’t find the words to explain because right then he sees the patient’s hand where it’s uncovered - the two numbers tattooed on the pointer and middle fingers. _28._

Harry’s own scream is what wakes him up, his heart jolting as he sits up straight, his hands covering his mouth. He tries to catch his breath, tears fighting at his eyes. His brain keeps flashing the image of Louis’s hand on that gurney and it feels so real, feels like he saw it happen just now. His heart is twisted, his stomach upside down and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Shit,” he whispers as he wipes at his eye. He can’t tell if he’s sweating or crying but it doesn’t matter. Even as his heart slows, his mind keeps showing him that image, echoing that woman’s words “Need you to identify the body”. Harry’s been plagued by terrifying dreams for months but this one is by far the worst, by the far the most realistic and lingering. He gets out of bed and walks to the window, staring out into the dark night. When he goes to push his fingers back through his hair, he realizes his hands are shaking. He needs someone to help him, he can’t do this alone. He barely even processes his actions until he has his phone pressed to his ear, an echoing ring down the line.

“Hello?”

Harry exhales and swallows. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Louis says softly. “I’m watching Game of Thrones again.”

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, his hand covering his eyes as he takes a steady breath. He needs to calm down. Louis is fine. He’s at home, watching Game of Thrones. Harry is interrupting him because he’s a head case with a nightmare problem. “Sorry for calling.”

“Everything okay?”

Harry nods and realizes his throat is tight. He coughs lightly. “Fine, yeah.”

“You sure?” Harry can almost see Louis, the way his eyebrows are probably raised in familiar concern. “You sound a little off, babe.”

Babe. Harry is a simple house of cards, broken by one word. “I had a dream,” he says slowly. “You were, uh, you were in it.”

“Not a spicy dream by the way you sound.”

Harry laughs and it sounds so heavy. “No, not spicy.” _Spicy_. God, he would much rather be dealing with a wet dream than a dream that is making him call Louis just to make sure he’s still breathing. “I was at the hospital and they asked me to identify a body. And it was, it was-” his voice cracks and he can’t keep going. He takes a deep breath. “It was you.” As soon as he says it, he hates himself. He hates that he called Louis, hates that he couldn’t just deal with this on his own. It was a dream - five year olds get over dreams quicker than this. They certainly don’t go disrupting other people’s lives with them.

“Well,” Louis finally says when Harry is on the edge of just hanging up. “I just took my pulse and it’s still there. My lungs are doing okay despite the smoking habit in college. I have a bruise on my knee but probably not life threatening.”

Harry sniffs and laughs at the same time which comes out like a snort.

“I’m alright, H,” Louis says, voice gentle. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I know that,” Harry says quietly. “Shit. I’m sorry for calling Louis. I don’t know why I did.”

“Because you were worried,” Louis says. It’s so simple in his voice. “And that’s not a bad thing to be. Not to mention, I’d much rather pause a show I’ve seen three times to answer the phone than have you lay awake the rest of the night worried.”

Harry wants to cry for different reasons now; he doesn’t deserve Louis’s kindness.

“Plus, it’s also good to know what’s happening to me in other people’s dreams. It’s good to keep tabs on all my selves.”

Harry finds himself smiling, “You’re so weird.”

“Yeah, well, yeah. I can’t not agree,” Louis says. “Are you feeling better?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. It’s just like that shaky feeling, you know? Always hangs around for a bit.”

“Are you in bed?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, get in bed. I’ll tell you about this episode because I’m having trouble figuring out why the fuck anyone ever liked Joffrey.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” Harry says. He does as Louis says though and slips back between the covers. He presses the phone to his ear as he pulls the blankets up to his shoulders. “It’s always been agreed that he’s a total twerp.”

“Yet he has a whole kingdom of supporters. And they seem to like him well enough.”

“What episode are you on?” Harry closes his eyes as Louis launches into a recap of where he is in the series. They used to watch together and Harry would always ask too many questions and Louis would get unnecessarily annoyed by all the characters. There’s a certain lull to Louis’s voice as he talks and Harry finds himself drifting slowly, humming along so Louis knows he’s still there. By the time he almost falls asleep, the image of Louis’s tattooed hand has faded from his memory. He doesn’t even realize Louis stopped talking but hasn’t hung up as he finally falls asleep totally.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis is midway through booking his flight for an east coast book conference when there’s a knock on his door that scares him enough to knock his knee on the coffee table, his cup of tea splashing into his lap.

“Motherfucker,” he says as he stands up, his laptop slipping to the side, off his lap. It probably wouldn’t be as painful if he’d decided to put clothes on before getting work done this afternoon. He spent most of the morning marathoning more Game of Thrones before he finally hauled himself out of bed to answer e-mails and register for some of his upcoming conferences. He just couldn’t bother with anything more than a pair of boxers to do it in. Which means his entire thigh is scalded by tea as there’s a second knock on the door.

“Who even knows I live here?” He mumbles as he moves toward the door, using a pillow from the couch to dry off his thigh. He opens the door and answers his own question, “Harry.” He’s standing right there in a pair of loose blue jeans a black t-shirt that’s a bit oversized, showing off the edge of the bird on his collarbone.

“Uh, hi.”

Harry’s eyes flicker down and Louis remembers he’s wearing nothing but boxers. He moves the throw pillow in front of his stomach like it’s doing him any favors. “What are you doing here?” He basically blurts the question out and then feels like an idiot when Harry takes a step back.

“I’m sorry, I should have called first. I was just walking around and ended up here.”

“At my front door?”

“Just in the area,” Harry says. “I wanted to stop by and apologize for last night. For calling you and interrupting your night.”

“You wanted to apologize for interrupting my night by showing up and interrupting my afternoon?” It’s rare you can see the way words hit someone but Louis sees it then, Harry’s mouth opening as he takes another step away. “Harry,” he says when he knows Harry is about to stumble over another apology, “Come in, please. Stop apologizing.” He steps further into the apartment and uses the throw pillow to beckon Harry forward. “Come on,” he says again.

Harry finally walks in with another quiet, “Sorry,” that makes Louis roll his eyes.

“I told you,” Louis says as he shuts the door, “It was fine last night. It’s fine now. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“I-,” Harry’s flick down again and Louis actually revels in it for a moment. It’s been awhile since he’s had a guy check him out and he’s actually stood still for it. For the past ten months if a guy even smiled at him and he’d run the other direction. “Thank you.”

Louis swallows as Harry meets his eyes again. The green he’s memorized with the lashes he loves, reminds him exactly who it is checking him out, and exactly why he shouldn’t be. “Sure.” He turns on his heel toward his closet, “Sit down, get a drink, whatever. I’m going to put clothes on.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry says, and it manages to make Louis stop and turn back around. "I'm joking."

Louis shakes his head and continues toward his closet. “Yeah, I do,” he says under his breath. Not only because he’s lonely and deprived of any kind of attention but because Harry’s attention, specifically, sends his heart spinning in circles.

Last night when Harry had called, his heart crumbled in his chest and tore at restraints as he tried to find the words to make the tiny cracks in Harry’s voice disappear. And when he rambled along about GoT and Harry stopped responding, and Louis knew with a distinct confidence he had fallen asleep but Louis didn’t hang up. He stayed on the line and listened to the soft sounds of Harry breathing, tried his best not to remember when those sounds were his, were pressed to his ear as tightly as Harry was pressed to his body.

Harry is sitting on the couch when Louis comes back - fully dressed with a sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans, mismatched socks because he was in a hurry. Something about Harry alone in his apartment unsupervised makes him nervous. As it should, he realizes when he notices his laptop is back to sitting upright on the coffee table and Harry’s hands are clasped together in his lap. “Snoop much?”

“I didn’t,” Harry says, easily and slowly in the way Louis knows to recognize as him telling the truth. “It just woke up when I set it on the table.”

“Somehow I believe you.” Louis crosses over to sit on the opposite side of the couch, laying back into the corner cushions if only for a funny juxtaposition at the way Harry is holding himself so tightly. “What’s up? I know you’re a good person but I can’t honestly believe you came all this way to apologize for a phone call.”

“I did,” Harry says. “Because I am sorry.”

“Are you apologizing for your nightmare or are you apologizing for the part where you cared enough to know that I was still alive to call me?”

Harry looks down at his own hands and sighs. “Can you just accept the apology?”

“Harry.” He waits until Harry looks up again. “I accept your unnecessary apology. All is forgiven. Okay?” Harry nods once and relaxes slightly. “Now will you tell me why you walked three miles away from Niall’s house?”

“I told you I walk a lot in Chicago,” he says.

“You did,” Louis says. He remembers it well - Harry admitting he walks at dawn when he should be sleeping. It was a red flag in a line of them that has caught Louis’s attention since Harry’s unplanned arrival. “And I know you do that to avoid thinking too much about your job, your problems.” If Harry is surprised at Louis’s guess, he doesn’t show it but Louis would venture to guess his assumptions are correct. “So what got you walking today?”

Harry glances over at Louis then back at his hands. It makes Louis feel like they’re in therapy even though he hasn’t been since he was sixteen and he’s never seen Harry in therapy. “I was talking to Niall yesterday and he kind of got me thinking, I guess.”

“Hm,” Louis hums and stays quiet. That’s what his therapist used to do to him to make him talk, assuming he’s the therapist in this situation. It doesn’t really work as expected, Harry just stays quiet and Louis’s lips twitch. “What did you guys talk about? Did you tell him, uh,” he stumbles over his words, “Tell him what you told me?”

Harry huffs out a small laugh. “No. I couldn’t or like, it wouldn’t come out I guess. I told him I’m here for another couple weeks. And then he asked me if I was staying here. Staying in Eugene. Or going back.”

Louis is a terrible therapist because his heart absolutely swoops and his throat locks for a moment. He’d never considered Harry staying in Eugene.

“I’d never thought of coming back,” Harry says quietly like he’s perched inside of Louis’s head. “It never crossed my mind to like, give up.”

Louis tries to collect his thoughts but they are ricocheting like drunk circus animals in his head. “It’s not giving up,” he says first because it seems most important. “Doing what’s right for you wouldn’t be giving up. Staying in Chicago or coming to Eugene.” He feels like he’s speaking from an out of body experience because none of these words are coming out coherently in his head.

Harry nods and presses his hands to his face, drags them down to cup his chin in the exact way he used to chastise Louis for, telling him it would prematurely age him. “That’s what I was telling myself but I wouldn’t listen.”

Louis laughs lightly, “I could see that.” Then, “Do you want to stay?” He has no idea what he wants Harry to say in that moment. Either way, he knows it will hurt just like everything else. Staying means Harry never should have left, leaving again means he still has no reason to be here. Louis holds his breath and tries to take himself out of it. He needs to help Harry do what’s right for him and then he can figure out where his own pieces fall.

“I don’t know,” Harry says and his voice shakes as he sighs.

Louis exhales. For some reason not knowing is the only answer he thinks he can deal with. “You’ll figure it out,” he says as seriously as he can manage. It’s easy to say as long as he doesn’t think about how either decision will effect him. Focus on Harry and it’ll be okay. Think about losing him, losing whatever they have now, or think about having him around each day, close enough to touch but forbidden - well, both of those end in a spiral Louis doesn’t want to explore.

“Right,” Harry says. His hands twitch against his knees, his toe taps the rug on the floor. Harry’s stomach rumbles in the silence, loud enough for them both to hear which automatically makes them laugh.

“Guess that three mile walk got to you, huh?”

Harry smiles without showing his teeth. “Forgot to have lunch.”

“I was thinking of making pizza tonight, if you want to stay for dinner?” Louis asks it with all the hope of asking someone to prom and he hears it in his voice.

“You sure?”

Louis nods. The truth is that he wasn’t planning to make pizza tonight but suddenly he wants Harry to stay here longer and it’s the only thing he knows how to make that takes a long time.

“That sounds great actually. Niall is going to dinner with some of his teacher friends anyway.”

“Teacher friends,” Louis repeats drily. They used to joke about Niall ditching them for his co-workers as if they didn’t regularly ditch Niall for each other.

“What kind of pizza?”

Louis smiles, a little guilty. “I don’t actually have anything for pizza yet. I need to go to the store.”

Harry raises his eyebrows just slightly but not like he’s calling Louis on a lie just observant. “Up for more walking?”

*

By the time they get back to Louis’s apartment its close to early evening, the sun starting to sink slowly and casting the sky in shades of bruised purple and light pink.

Their grocery store walk had been mostly uneventful, Harry studying his feet as Louis followed and tried not to push conversation. He knows enough about Harry, about people, to know Harry was rattled by Niall’s suggestion of staying in Eugene. To be fair, Louis isn’t sure if it’s staying in Eugene freaking Harry out the most or the opening of a door, an option, he hadn’t really been paying attention to before. The first time they actually spoke on the trip was picking out pizza ingredients, though they agreed easily: white garlic sauce, spinach, mushrooms, ricotta cheese and parmesan. Harry picked out a bottle of wine, insisting homemade pizza called for it and Louis didn’t argue.

Now, Harry unpacks their single bag of groceries while Louis turns the heater on a bit. There’s something utterly relaxing about the sound of a heater kicking on and the click of the oven as Harry sets it to bake. They make their pizzas at the center island, opting for personal size instead of a combined single. Louis plays Hozier from his bluetooth speaker and Harry hums along as they both try to figure out the best way to knead their pizza dough and then flatten it.

“Remember Lauren? Our receptionist?” Louis asks.

Harry nods, glancing up before going back to smoothing the edges of his pizza. “Yeah, she seemed oddly suspicious of me.”

“That’s because she knows you’re the hot nurse who was trending on Twitter over the summer,” Louis says easily. He should have pointed out just how far that story had made it besides Niall simply showing him. “You’re kind of famous.” He smiles at the way Harry blushes and glances down. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that she and her boyfriend went to Italy a couple months ago and stayed in a resort where they took authentic cooking classes. I’ve been jealous since I heard about it.”

“That sounds amazing,” Harry says. “Like an absolute dream. Learning to make pasta, strolling through a vineyard.”

“Enjoying the pasta and the wine on a porch overlooking the sea.”

“Exactly.” Harry looks up and their eyes meet but Louis looks away first. What a dumb thing to bring up with an ex, he realizes a smidge too late.

They lapse into quiet again as they finish their pizzas - Louis heavy on the sauce, Harry heavy on the ricotta cheese and spinach. While the pizzas bake, they sip wine and Louis finds his tongue heavy. There’s something wiggling in the back of his mind - something about all the things Harry has told him over the past few days, the open honesty he sees every time he meets Harry’s gaze. Even now, Harry rambles aimlessly about a walk at dawn along the river front in Chicago, how he watched the sunrise over the buildings and felt small and inconsequential in every possible way.

“I need to tell you something,” Louis blurts out. Harry looks up from where he’d been studying his wine glass. His lips are parted and Louis realizes he’s just interrupted him. “Sorry - you should finish,” he says.

Harry shakes his head, “No, you go.”

Even though Louis has started this, he freezes. He feels like they’re playing pretend - acting like there isn’t a ball and chain of history between them. You aren’t supposed to break up and come back into each other’s lives - Louis gets it. Still, for everything Harry ever was to him, he feels like he still owes him the truth.“You’ve been really honest with me the last few days,” he starts. His eyes travel Harry’s face and then land as their gazes meet. Harry visibly swallows. “And I feel like I could be a bit more honest with you.”

Harry tilts his head, “About what?”

Louis sighs. “Nothing serious. Or, maybe. I don’t know.”

Harry moves his glass off to the side, clasps his hands together on the counter. “Okay.”

Louis takes a deep breath and then just admits the heaviest shame in his stomach:“The reason I hadn’t unpacked those boxes, the reason I didn’t tell anyone you left,” he looks away. “It’s because I thought you might come back.” He can’t look at Harry so he studies the numbers on the oven, a ticking clock. “I thought you might come back,” he repeats like the first time wasn’t enough. “And I was wrong. I know that now.” It takes a hanging moment for him to finally look over and then there’s Harry with his wide eyes, face unmoving. “Don’t say anything,” Louis says. “Please. I just wanted to get it off my chest. Okay?”

Harry blinks and then nods. “Okay.”

Louis relaxes, air pressing out of his lungs. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish by sharing this ugly, blackened part of his life but the relief at saying it out loud is palpable. When he looks over at Harry again, he’s got his half smile playing on his mouth. “What?”

Harry’s smile fades and he blinks again. “We’re a real mess, aren’t we?”

Louis huffs a small laugh and nods. He wonders if he should point out how they got here - who they should blame for all the pain they now carry. “We are.”

“At least we have each other,” Harry says. “And what did you say the other night? Maybe we could both use a friend?

Louis has to look away again. There’s some lesson here - in biting the hand who feeds you and coming back for more - but it doesn’t make sense with Harry leaning against the counter like this, in a the quiet kitchen light on a cold night. It seems like the easiest thing in the world when he says, “I think we could.”

Harry smiles and it’s like he’s going to say something else but the oven clock calls time on their conversation with it’s loud beep. Harry stays quiet and Louis wonders what he was going to say as they go about the rest of the night. Friends, Louis thinks as they sit down at the counter for dinner. Friends. Never in a million years did he think this is where they would be. 


	7. Chapter 7

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry stands in Niall’s silent kitchen, staring out the window. His eyes keep getting caught on the branches of melting snow as sun pokes through the trees. It’s officially the end of the holiday break - though Harry only knows because Niall lamented it this morning while banging around making himself an omelette and packing lunch. 

“You love your job though,” Harry said from the counter where he was having a cup of coffee and attempting to read through Niall’s tornado distraction.

“You’re right,” Niall said, pausing momentarily. “I’m lucky to get to do a job that makes me this happy. I’m also lucky I’m allowed to complain to my best friend about it.” Harry rolled his eyes as Niall crossed the room to smack a kiss on his cheek. 

Harry’s mind has been splintered the last few days and seems no better now. He feels like a film reel all mixed up, his mind flitting between thoughts he can’t contain. 

Louis seems to be the main star of his film, his confession from last night the big hook: he thought Harry would be coming back so he didn’t tell the truth. Last night it made Harry’s head spin and is doing so again today. He had no idea Louis had been waiting, no idea Louis wanted him to come back after he left. It’s cruel to find out so late but how was Harry to know when Louis never said. He never considered there was a spot for him to come home to. All this time he was in Chicago wishing for a do-over while Louis was in Eugene wishing for another chance. And neither of them said a damn thing. 

Harry turns away from the window to make another cup of coffee. It doesn’t matter now - whatever Louis had thought or wished. He’s moved on, is moving on, even as Harry still stumbles looking for his place. Harry can’t let himself wonder if he’s ever really moved on himself - and only because he already knows the answer. 

Friends; the second part of the haphazard movie of his mind. In the face of Louis telling him he wanted Harry to come back, all Harry could think to offer is friendship. As if either of them truly knows what that means or looks like. How can he be friends with someone who has regularly put their mouth on his inner thigh, who he once trusted implicitly, whose heart he shattered, who he once thought he would marry? 

He thinks back to safer territories: Niall. Niall complaining about work but admitting how much he loves it, as if Harry didn’t already know. Of course he does. Niall has found a career that is fulfilling and challenging, one that surely doesn’t wake him up in the middle of the night shaking. Harry always thought that’s what nursing would be for him but the sinking realization that it’s not anymore is enough to tilt his heart in a terrifying direction. 

The final thought as his coffee finishes brewing is the question he can’t answer: What does he do now? For a couple of weeks now, it’s been a slow march back to Chicago but then Niall burst in with a possibility he hadn’t considered: staying. Staying in Eugene and starting over, again. He has to cut off the train of thought like an abrupt slash in the film. 

He doesn’t know _how_ to stay. How to start over again, how to be friends with an ex, how to figure out a new passion when he thought he already new his; how to deal with the reality that his life would be vastly different had he held his tongue in March, made a different decision than the one to leave. He has to bite down on his back molars as he wanders toward the kitchen island to sit down. If he thinks too much, he’ll lose the grip he’s pretending to have. 

*

There’s something ineffably lonely about everyone going back to their normal lives, something Harry feels in his chest as he wanders the empty house with Niall gone at work. He’s had enough of reading and silence for the moment. He likes to be alone but the cold reality of loneliness taking up so much space in his life scares him. 

Eventually he ends up pulling down the cookbooks from Niall’s cupboard to find something to make in order to distract himself. Friendship is food in his experience so maybe cooking dinner and inviting Louis to join is a step in the right direction. They’ve been having a lot of meals together the past couple weeks but, he reasons, this one will include Niall and automatically makes it different. 

“Making dinner tonight. You’re both invited,” he sends in a new group text to Niall and Louis. They used to have a raucous group text but Harry deleted it months ago, unable to read their jokes anymore. There’s no response as he pages through an Italian cookbook but he doesn’t pay much attention - normal lives are unfolding outside of the bubble of Niall’s house, he gets it. 

He takes a reusable tote to the grocery store in the afternoon, careful to not slip in the melty patches of ice. He has a list of ingredients scrawled on a piece of paper shoved in his pocket, his headphones playing the new Taylor Swift record. Somehow he finds himself smirking, happy to have a purpose even if just to make a meal. 

The grocery store is pretty empty - more people getting back to their normal lives- but Harry finds it easier to browse for the ingredients he wants like this. He never perfected the art of cooking and even with Louis they were mediocre at best. There was always more joy in the process than the result, something Harry wants to find now. If he needs to distract himself with making the perfect chicken parmesan, he’ll do it and call it self care. 

Back at Niall’s, he pours himself a glass of wine as he starts to prepare the marinara sauce - opting for the complicated homemade one rather than the jarred version. He doesn’t want to think about a thing but the food and as he gets down to business, he finds it easy to do.  One glass of wine turns to two as dusk sweeps over the house, the warmth of the kitchen glowing against dark windows. He starts to get a swoop of nerves as five p.m. comes and then passes. He checks his phone but there’s no response from Louis or Niall. Maybe they have other plans, he reasons. They have lives here he’s not part of, he understands. He thinks a text to say they weren’t coming would be nice but he keeps trucking along anyway. 

Just as he adds a final layer of cheese to his chicken parm to bake, he’s pretty much resigned himself to eating alone tonight. He pours a third glass of wine.  He’s scrolling through Instagram when there’s the sound of the front door opening and shutting. And then Louis is there, walking through the doorway in a deep red sweater, a bottle of wine held in the crook of his arm.  “Niall’s right behind me,” he says by way of greeting. “Wanted to grab his mail from the box.”

“You came,” Harry says lamely, the wine edging the coherence from his words. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, tilting his head just slightly. “Assumed that was what the text was meant to imply.”

“No, yeah,” Harry says quickly, straightening up, somehow nervous. “No one responded so I wasn’t sure.” Said out loud it sounds pale and lame.

“Oh.” Louis crosses the kitchen and sets his bottle of wine on the counter. “I didn’t even think about it actually. Can I win you over with a glass of wine?”

Harry finds himself smiling. “I have one,” he says, motioning at his glass. “And have had two already.”

Louis starts to say something but stops and shakes his head.

“What?” Harry asks, needing to know.

Louis presses his lips together and then smiles. “I was just going to say I can tell. Your cheeks are always pink when you start having wine, and your lips go deep red.”

Harry blushes over whatever pink must already be there. How can Louis’s basic knowledge of his habits turn him into a fifteen year old with a crush? He has no idea. He’s saved from having to respond as Niall bustles in and starts talking about a mile a minute. He drinks the rest of Harry’s wine straight from the bottle - blaming his second graders - and instructs Louis to open the second bottle in the middle of complaining about one of his students tying another student’s shoelaces together. 

Then, it’s a flurry of getting everyone a glass of wine, though Harry stops his glass from being topped off anymore. Friendship or not, quarter-life crisis or not, he’s still sitting around with an ex - he doesn’t necessarily want to be hammered. A week ago, alcohol made the situation easier but now it feels a little dangerous, like a slippery slope starting with pink cheeks and red lips. 

Niall presses on to tell more stories about his classroom while Harry, suddenly in host mode, tries to finish the angel hair pasta and check on the baking chicken dish all at once. At one point, Louis comes around to the stove and gently takes the wooden spoon from Harry’s hand to stir the pasta and nudges his head toward the oven for Harry to check the chicken. It’s a small detail, a seamless transition, but it makes Harry blush again. The damn wine, he thinks.

At the table, Harry finds himself next to Louis with Niall centered across from them. There’s not a pause in conversation as they dish food onto their plates and start to eat though Niall and Louis both make a point of telling Harry how good everything looks which makes him preen internally, though he keeps calm on the outside. 

“How was your day?” Niall asks once he’s told them about literally every second of his. 

“Good,” Louis says, quiet. “I have a book buying convention this weekend so I’ve been trying to prepare.”

“You do?” Harry doesn’t know why he sounds so surprised. There’s hardly anything he knows about Louis and his calendar now - but it still catches him off guard to remember what he doesn’t know. 

“In Portland,” he says. “Just a day trip up and back.”

“Buying books,” Niall says. “A nerd shopping trip.”

“Says the teacher,” Harry intones which makes them all laugh. 

Silence tips over them slowly until Niall looks at Harry and says, “And you?”

Harry glances up and shrugs. He twirls some pasta onto his fork. “Pretty, uh, boring day really. Not a lot going on at the moment.” It sounds so sad out loud, he finds the corners of his mouth turning down. 

“Not really,” Louis says. “You did decide to become a chef for the day. That’s not easy or boring.”

Niall laughs loudly but Harry stays quiet, his eyes drawing slowly to Louis’s face. Louis is smirking but not in a cruel way, in a way that makes Harry feel like he might blush if he doesn’t look away. He drops his gaze. 

“Have you thought anymore about staying in Eugene?” Niall’s voice is easy and curious but it makes Harry’s spine stiffen. 

All he thinks about it is what’s going on his life, what he should do next. He doesn’t really want to discuss it like this, tipsy over dinner. Friends are supposed to take your mind off things, not loop them around the same old questions.  “A bit,” he says because he’s too kind to push off the answer. He knows Niall isn’t malicious but he also knows he hasn’t told Niall the whole truth. He owes him something. “I’m just trying to figure some stuff out.”

“What about your job in Chicago?” He asks while chewing a piece of food, “Don’t they wonder where you are?”

Harry swallows. “They’ve given me some time to figure things out.” His voice is small and he hates it. Niall is just being curious, it doesn’t need to be an attack. 

“I wish I could get some time to figure things out,” Niall says. “I’d fuck off to Hawaii though, not to Eugene.” He laughs and Harry feels himself deflating even more. He’s not in the right place to laugh at his own circumstances tonight. “For what it’s worth, I think you should come back here. Get your old job back, you know.”

Harry nods, sullen. He doesn’t want to have this conversation ever but particularly not right now. 

“What are you leaning towards?” Niall asks even though Harry can’t look up from his plate.

“How about he lets us know when he decides?” Louis. Harry glances over to see him neatly cutting a piece of his chicken, his voice light. “I’m sure we’ll be first to know.”

“Better be,” Niall says, laughing. Then he’s off to the next topic: peanut allergies on airplanes. 

Harry looks over at Louis but Louis resolutely doesn’t meet his eyes. He just keeps eating, nodding along to what Niall is saying. Harry isn’t sure what just happened but he appreciates having Louis on his side again. Appreciates it even as it pricks on his heart in a way he didn’t expect. 

There aren’t any other spikes in the conversation after that as they empty their plates and then stay at the table finishing glasses of wine. It’s so nice to have friends, Harry finds himself thinking somewhere in the middle of the whole thing. In Chicago, he’d forgotten what it could be like to have people talking around him, not talking about work or the weather, nothing like small talk in a forced space. 

He’s realizing, as he laughs at Niall’s re-telling of their hungover graduation day, how used to being lonely he’s become. Not talking to people outside of the hospital, finding ways to busy his time like wandering at midnight. He has gotten used to not having anyone and suddenly it’s hitting him here - a casual kitchen conversation. He hasn’t had one of these in months and the realization is terrifying. No wonder he craved having Louis around once he finally moved back to his own apartment - his loneliness is pervasive and achy yet so pushed down in his stomach he didn’t realize how badly it hurt. 

Niall’s phone interrupts them - a FaceTime call from his nephew - so he excuses himself to the other room, his voice catching into excitable curves as he answers the call.

“How are you?” Louis asks as Niall’s voice fades into a muffle.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been here two hours and just thought to ask?”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Nevermind.”

He goes to get up and Harry finds himself reaching out, one hand on his forearm. “No, wait. I’m kidding.” He pulls his hand back slowly. “Not used to people knowing my secrets.”

Louis presses his plate out of the way, crosses his arm on the table and meets Harry’s eyes. “I know quite a few of your secrets. Used to anyway.” He says the second part quietly like Harry wasn’t meant to hear it. 

Harry drops his gaze, his mind scattered. He doesn’t know what to say to that so he goes back to the start. “I’m doing alright,” he says. “Today was just weird. I’m just…I don’t know what I’m doing with my life I guess.”

“Does anyone ever know?”

“I used to think I did,” he says. Surely this is breaking a rule somewhere - admitting he used to have his life together until he went and took dynamite to it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry rolls his lips together, actually considering. Talking, telling Louis the truth, helped before but he’s not sure what to say. He can’t put words to the emotions - to the chance he may not want to be a nurse at all, to the chance he’ll be twenty-eight and starting on a whole new career path. The very last thing he wants to admit is how much he misses Louis, how terribly his life has seemed to go since he walked out.  “No,” he settles on. He meets Louis’s eyes: “Not yet.” 

Louis nods. “When you’re ready.”

Harry nods like a call and response act. There’s a quiet beat, “How are you?”

Louis levels his gaze. “Why are you asking?”

“Because we’re friends and friends get to ask.”

Louis huffs a laugh. “I’m alright,” he says, echoing Harry from earlier. “It’s funny but it’s almost like now that you’re back, things are getting better. I’ve felt like I was on pause for awhile and it’s… it’s getting better.”

Harry nods like autopilot though it’s not easy. He’s helping Louis get over him just by being here. No doubt seeing what a mess Harry has become is helping it. “Good,” he says out loud. 

Louis seems to smile to himself and it only serves to make Harry feel slightly worse. He needs to get his life together - whatever that means. Maybe he should figure that part out. 

“Do you think Niall is avoiding coming back in here so he doesn’t have to do dishes?”

Harry smiles, his worries settling low under his ribs again. “Knowing him? Probably.”

“Always leaves us to clean up the mess,” Louis says like a long suffering parent as he gets up from the table.

Harry follows, stacking their plates. “He did let us stay in the house when we would have both been out on the streets.” 

“Take his side,” Louis says with an exaggerated eye roll. Harry sets his pile of plates down just to flip him off. 

They do the dishes quietly without steering into sticky conversations. By the time they finish and clean the counters, Niall’s voice has gone quiet and there’s light rain on the windows. “Where do you think he went?” Louis asks, as Harry finishes putting the pans on the shelf beneath the counter. 

Harry shrugs and then follows Louis out into the entryway and over to the couch where they find Niall asleep, his phone on his chest.  “Avoiding clean up duty, as always,” Louis says. He leans over the back of the couch and flicks Niall forehead. 

“Fuck off,” Niall says, not moving or even opening his eyes. 

“Sleeping beauty,” Harry mutters, smirking when Louis looks over at him. 

“I should head out anyway,” Louis says, turning away to leave Niall alone.

Harry studies him, this delicate moment of quiet and dark. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” It’s surely not his place to ask, not his place to invite into a house that’s not his. “It’s raining,” he says lamely. 

Louis smiles, “Last time I checked, rain doesn’t melt me.”

“Right.” Harry rolls his lip under his teeth, “Be careful getting home then.”

“I will, H,” Louis says quietly. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anytime,” Harry says, which is surely a lie he knows even as he speaks. Louis doesn’t call him on it. He puts on his jacket and Harry watches him with nothing more to say.

“See you around?” He says once he has it zipped up, one hand on the door.

“Yes,” Harry says, no hesitation. Maybe he’s too eager but loneliness is exhausting and Louis feels like the first semblance of rest in too long. He’s not ready to let go yet.

Even after Louis nods and leaves, Harry stands in front of the door, staring at the grain of the wood. His mind seems to run off the tracks when he’s alone but there’s something Louis brings with him - a calm to the anxiety. He lets it settle around him a little longer until Niall’s sleepy voice says, “What the fuck are you staring at?” And pulls him back to reality. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis wakes up thinking of Harry and it would be startling if it hadn’t already become alarmingly normal. This is his life in this temporary space of Harry being back - having him as a subtle presence always in his mind. 

Last night had been odd. Not for anything that had happened but the strange bundle of nerves taking up residence in Louis’s stomach. There had been a moment at the front door before he left at the end of the night where he had deja vu of a past life, of first dates featuring him and Harry. Dull anticipation and achy indecision about what to say or how to hold himself. He thought he’d shaken the feeling yet it wakes up with him and follows as he goes to work. 

Work takes his mind off of it - the rush of getting back to normal after the holidays. By the time lunch comes around he’s exhausted at his desk, his door shut tightly like he’s on a call even as he just tries to catch his breath. 

He loves his job and it’s not often he has to remind himself. There are just moments like this that take his breath and make it heavy. Work stress never used to bother him much - not when he would go home and have someone to make his stress seem manageable. It wasn’t that he ever forgot about his job or that he was transported to nirvana upon walking into their apartment. It was more that he had someone willing to listen or willing to make him forget about anything that didn’t matter. Maybe he took having that someone for granted in the end.Forgot to acknowledge their relationship outside of work - those spare few hours they found and wasted with arguments. 

He flips over his phone to ward off the thought. “Speak of the fucking devil,” he says out loud when he sees a text from Harry among a few other messages. He slides his finger across the message to open it like an old reflex. He always would open Harry’s messages first even if his screen was full of notifications. His sisters used to say they could win the lottery and he’d find out from Harry first. There may have been some truth to their complaints. 

Harry_: Idk if you both remember but I am a superior bowler._

This time opening Harry’s text first doesn’t really pay off. Louis scrolls up slightly to see the messages before: Niall inviting them to a bowling party one of his teacher friends is hosting later tonight. Harry has already agreed and evidently named himself the best bowler of the three. 

Louis_: We’ll see about that. I’m in._

Louis sends the message without hesitation, smiling to himself. It’ll be good to do something social instead of taking stress home to a lonely apartment. 

_Game on_, Harry says. 

Louis’s thumbs hover over the keyboard until Niall’s message pops up: _Stop flirting in the group text. _

Louis lets the phone fall to the desk as he feels a flutter of embarrassment even though he’s alone. He wasn’t flirting. It’s absurd to even say. He scowls at his computer screen. When his phone vibrates again, he acts like he’s ignoring it but then glances down anyway. 

Harry: _Don’t flatter yourself, Niall._

Louis doesn’t bother with a response as he flips the phone facedown to actually focus on his job. He catches himself smirking, imagining Harry’s self-satisfied smile at his comeback. They used to come up with comebacks together but, like many other things, turns out Harry can do that on his own now. 

*

Despite his best intentions, Louis gets out of the library late and he doesn’t have time to stop at his apartment before he heads to Eugene’s only bowling alley at the edge of town. He hasn’t been in years but it feels familiar as he pulls into the parking lot. The lines on the pavement are faded and the neon letters of the sign out front fade and flicker. There’s a handful of cars parked near the entrance though the parking lot is far from full. Louis pulls in next to Niall’s car and then makes his way toward the entrance. 

Inside is not much better than the exterior, musty orange carpets in the entryway and a run-down snack counter with a popcorn machine that has surely seen better days.There’s a counter to check out bowling shoes but Louis looks away when he hears a cheer from the direction of the lanes. He barely has to focus before he sees Harry in a yellow sweater with his arms in the air, his smile wide as the rest of his team applauds whatever shot he’s just made. Louis looks away. Harry wasn’t really bragging when he said he was the superior bowler. 

“You with the teachers?” 

Louis glances at the guy behind the desk - surely one of the college students - as he chews his gum like a cow out to pasture. It’s not exactly the greeting Louis would recommend for front desk personnel but he smiles anyway. “Sure am.”

He takes his bowling shoes and heads over to the rest of the group, nodding and smiling at the teachers he recognizes - the ones Niall has introduced him to. He’s not sure how many names he knows but his smile seems to acquiesce here. 

“Louis!” It’s Niall, three lanes away and waving one hand in the air, a plastic cup of beer held in the other.“You’re on the green team.”

“Thanks,” he says with a quick nod. Louis glances around for obvious team colors and sees none. 

“Our team.” 

Louis meets the eyes belonging to the familiar voice: Harry. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” Louis says, taking a seat on one of the free benches to change his shoes. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright,” says one of their other team members, Alice if Louis is guessing correctly, “Harry’s been bowling your turns.”

Louis’s lips twitch as he focuses on Harry, standing close to him, arms crossed over his chest. “Purposeful gutter balls, I’m sure.”

“No,” Harry says, smug. “It’s a team effort. Obviously bringing my ‘A’ game.”

“Appreciate it,” Louis says. He unties his works shoes and slips into the bowling ones, tying them up quickly. “Are you watching me?” He says without looking, always adept to the way Harry’s eyes feel.

“No.”

Louis glances up to see Harry staring right at him. “What are you looking at then?” He gets to see the actual moment Harry blushes and turns away, going to take his turn at bowling. Louis watches him walk away, tight black jeans and black boots with a chunk heel.

“You’re next,” Alice, Louis still thinks, says to him as Harry takes his turn. 

“Right,” he says, starting to look for a ball to use before he remembers his manners. “How are you?” He asks possibly-Alice. “It’s been awhile.”

“It has,” she says easily. “But I’m doing well. Nathan is busy as ever as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Louis curses silently. This is definitely Alex not Alice. Nathan is her husband - getting ready for a senate campaign run on an education-based platform. They talked about this extensively at the Friendsgiving Niall graciously invited Louis to. It was the first Thanksgiving without Harry and Louis dealt with that by drinking copious amounts of wine. The finer points are still coming back to him.

“I’d still love to have him hold town halls in the library,” he says as he hears Harry curse as he splits the pins. He picks up a ball from the rack that seems like it’ll work. “Just have him give me a call, we’ll get it set up.” He smiles as he goes to take Harry’s place at the lane. 

“Good luck, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says, a pointed look down at Louis’s chest.

Louis lifts his free hand and realizes he’s wearing his ID badge from work, which means a bright blue lanyard around his neck. “Shut up,” he says, taking it off with one quick swipe over his head. 

Harry laughs as he holds out his hand to take the badge so Louis can finish his turn. Louis hands it off easily, rolling his eyes. He watches as Harry loops it over his head as he goes back to sit on the bench. Louis bites his lip as he lines up and releases the ball into the lane. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s hit a strike until Niall shrieks from two lanes over and crosses all of the lanes to squeeze Louis in a hug. He laughs as he tries to keep his balance, glances around for Harry and finds him looking back at him, bright blue lanyard around his neck and big wide smile on his mouth.  Harry gives the lanyard back when Louis’s turn is over and Louis shoves it in his back pocket the way he does when he has toddler reading groups who insist on yanking it like a cord to a lamp. 

His and Harry’s team win their first game and play against Niall’s team next which turns into a lot of shouting and someone asking if the three of them are brothers. Louis and Harry look at each other with wide eyes before dissolving into laughter - their shared history somehow easier to digest in the form of a joke.  Snacks are delivered partway through the second game which means mediocre popcorn, movie candy and slushy drinks but since Louis hasn’t had dinner, it works as good as anything. 

Harry’s red slushy only makes his lips stand out like he’s trying on lipstick and Louis’s eyes catch on them a few times.  He finds himself watching more than just Harry’s lips, though. He studies the way he laughs and the way he talks to the other people on their team, taunts Niall’s teammates. If you didn’t know him at all, it would be hard to believe all the inner turmoil sinking his heart, all the things he has told Louis over the last week. 

It’s still familiar to see how easily Harry sinks into a group he barely knows. It’s what used to make them work as a couple so well - their ability to keep a conversation going without having the other one nearby. Leaving together at the end of the nigh was all they needed. It’s how they lived their lives too - separate jobs and commitments but landing in the same place each evening. Louis still can’t pin point when that stopped being enough, when they decided to blow off those precious hours they had together in the pursuit of something else, or another hour of sleep. He keeps getting stuck in wondering how things could have gone so well only to crash and burn in the end. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Louis realizes he’s staring right at Alex as his eyes focus. “Oh, sorry, zoning out,” he says, putting on a smile. 

“You sure? You look pretty serious over there.” She smiles easily.

“Seriously nothing,” he says instead of the truth. “Just tired.” The truth is that even though he told Harry he’s moving on, he told him he’s getting better, there’s still the part of him that wishes time could go backwards, that wishes Harry would turn around and say, “I’m coming home”. A part of him that still wishes coming home meant Louis and not a different state altogether. 

Despite the melodrama, Louis has fun alongside the rest of the group. It’s fun to socialize - though he’s done more socializing since Harry showed up than the last nine months combined. If he truly is going to move on like he says, then nights like these are important. Even with his kryptonite hovering around every corner - the loudest laugh in the crowd and the eye he seems to catch even when he’s not trying. 

Niall’s team wins in the end and he’s had a few beers which means he jumps up on the bench and does a dance with a bowling ball that is probably unflattering for an elementary school teacher. All his colleagues seems absolutely fine with it, Louis notes. He has always maintained a belief that his wildest friends in college all grew up to be teachers; the bowling celebration seems to mostly prove that point again. 

Harry sighs. “Someone doesn’t lead a very exciting life if winning a bowling game is the most exciting part of their day.” Louis raises his eyebrows as he looks fully over at Harry. He raises his eyebrows right back at Louis. “What?”

“Harry Styles,” he says, trying not to smile. “You are such a sore loser.”

“You knew that already,” he says.

He does know Harry is a sore loser though they used to just call it competitive. He once refused to talk to Louis for an entire night after a Scrabble game where Louis came from behind to win. “I do know that.”

Niall swoops in between them, one arm around each of their shoulders that squeezes all three of their heads together. The group is dissipating quickly and the three of them are nearly the only ones left. “Winning team is going out for beers. Losing team is invited. You guys in?”

“Not me,” Louis says, “I need to get some sleep so I can be productive tomorrow.”

“Boo,” Niall says loudly and Louis rolls his eyes. “And you, Harry?”

“Not tonight,” Harry says. “I started a good book earlier today, kind of want to get back to it.”

“You are a massive nerd,” Niall says. 

“This coming from the teacher again?” Louis raises his eyebrows and Niall flicks his ear which makes Louis twirl out of his grip with a scowl. 

“See you guys later,” Niall says as he walks away, already focused on something else as Harry and Louis watch him go. 

“There goes my ride,” Harry says, tossing his empty slushy cup into the nearest garbage. “Uber it is.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, tossing his own half-empty slushy in the trash. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry says, somehow sounding surprised. 

“We’re friends.” Louis glances over his shoulder, “You keep forgetting.”

The car is icy cold when they get inside, the leather seats somehow pressing up through Louis’s trousers and making him flinch as he tries to jack up the heat. Harry breathes with a wide open mouth, his breath coming out in a cloud. It catapults Louis back to every other cold night like this when they used to try to heat up the car with their breath as they waited for the actual heater to kick in. This is the reason being friends with Harry feels like an uphill battle - every tiny thing triggers a memory.

“Turn on the heater,” Harry says, rubbing his hands together. 

Louis motions at the lit up system, “Working on it. Aren’t you supposed to be used to the cold?” He puts the key in the ignition, “You’re a Chicago kid now.”

“Hardly,” Harry says over a scoff. “And maybe I’m acclimatizing back to Eugene. I’ve been here long enough.” Louis isn’t sure what to say to that so he opts for focusing on reversing the car out of the parking spot. 

The drive is mostly quiet as Harry flips through the radio stations, listening to blurbs of songs before changing to the next. Louis wants to tell him to cut it out but there’s a certain trust in taking the liberty to control someone else’s radio and Louis likes to have that with Harry. 

“Still going to Portland this weekend?” Harry asks once he settles on a Lorde song from a couple of years ago. 

Louis nods even though its dark in the car, streetlights throwing in light at random intervals. “Yeah just a day trip.”

“I always loved Portland,” Harry says. 

Louis glances over to find Harry staring out the opposite window. He wonders if they’re both having the same flashbacks right now - all the weekend trips to the big city up north, nights in hotel rooms and running around bars with the hipsters. Vintage shopping and odd flavors of ice cream, renting bikes and walking along the waterfront. They used to use it as a romantic getaway when they wanted to get out of Eugene without going to the coast.  “You should come.” It slips out before it’s passed any of the necessary barriers and Louis physically bites his tongue as silence seeps between them.

“To the book convention?” Harry asks after a pause. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, his voice stronger than he feels. “It’s always nice to have a second opinion on the books. And the company for the drive is nice.”

“Are you asking because you’re trying to be my friend?”

Louis laughs lightly. This is utterly ridiculous. “Not really,” he says, honest for once. “I’m asking because you said you love Portland and because I would like for you to come.”

Quiet hangs again and Louis waits for Harry to give an excuse. It would make sense - their quasi-friendship only goes so far. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Okay,” Harry repeats. “I’d like to go with you.”

Louis nods. “Alright.”

Once again, he has no idea what he’s getting himself into. But that confusion stays tucked behind the chance that maybe this is all part of the bigger plan. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Regret fills Harry’s lungs early on Saturday morning as he waits for Louis to pick him up. It’s been two days since he accepted Louis’s invitation to go to Portland and he thought he was dealing with it alright until now. 

He tugs on the edges of his striped sweater, and adjusts one of the rings on his finger. He’s thankful Niall is still asleep to not see him pacing in front of the door like a trapped cat. Sleep didn’t come easily last night so instead he replayed all of his favorite memories from trips to Portland over the years - including his first trip with Louis when they had just started dating officially. It was the first time they ever had sex properly - in a fancy hotel over a dive bar. It hadn’t been planned by any means but, like most things with them, made complete sense. In the morning, Harry woke up when Louis was sneaking back in the room, a bag of fresh donuts in one hand and a bouquet of flowers from a market in the other. Harry kind of thought he might want to marry him right then. The other trips were just as good - midnight adventures and beer on rooftops, splitting pizza in the rose garden and taking the Christmas boat at the holidays.  He takes a deep breath to make the memories go away. He was actually excited about this two nights ago; he needs to get it together. 

As if on cue, Louis pulls up to the curb. Harry opens the front door immediately before wondering he should have waited for Louis to text him and let him know he was outside. Nothing like the desperation of bursting through the door before the car is even in park. He takes another deep breath. They are friends and this isn’t a date - desperation is hardly the word for being promptly on time. 

“Coffee?” Louis says by way of greeting. “Grabbed you an americano at Black Rock.” He points down at the cup holder. “And an everything bagel if you want it.”

Harry looks down at the coffee and bag holding the bagel and then looks up at Louis, blinking. So much for old memories not being important: Louis has just brought him the exact same early morning road trip food he’s always gotten. It shouldn’t feel this significant and he knows it. “That’s perfect, thanks.” Louis nods once and then moves the gear shift to drive as they pull away and head towards a two hour drive with nothing but each other for company. 

It’s rather pleasant when they get on the main freeway, a light rain and a grey day as they listen to the radio and eat their bagels in relative quiet. “What are these book buying conventions like?” Harry asks when the silent starts to itch, the windshield wipers slipping over the glass in front of them. 

“They’re actually really fun,” Louis says. “The major publishers bring out their key authors and build exhibits for each one of them. Each one is like an exhibition of the book and really brings the story to life.”

“And you just pick out which ones you want for the library?”

“Yep. It’s like Niall said: a massive shopping trip for books. The conventions happen in different cities so I get to travel to the really big ones.”

“What other ones have you gone to?” Harry asks the question to the windshield. There’s still a level of awkwardness at needing to fill in details of someone he used to know everything about. 

“A few.” Louis shifts his hand on the wheel and Harry catalogs the quick movement. “I went to Austin a few weeks ago and um, Illinois earlier in the fall.”

For a moment, Harry thinks he can’t breathe. His lungs start to freeze and his heart slows before picking up rapidly at once, his blood thrumming in his ears. “Chicago?” He repeats, his heart squeezing. 

“Yeah, a bit outside actually.” Louis stares straight ahead and Harry wonders if he can feel his gaze on the side of his face.

Louis was in Chicago. Louis. Chicago. The words don’t seem to sink in his brain but just hover around and over the top. Louis was mere miles from him and he had no idea. “How’d you like it?” He asks, trying to keep his voice light though it sounds strangled to his ears. 

“It was beautiful,” Louis says quietly.

Harry nods, swallows, tries to catch his breath. _You should have come with me,_ he wants to say. _I told you so_, he thinks. He can’t say any of that though, not really. Not when he’s ended up this unhappy and Louis has ended up with the job he always wanted. If Louis would have gone with Harry, their new life would have taken them both down. In retrospect, Harry can’t be certain that them being there _together_ would have meant anything at all in the end. “It is,” he says quietly.  Louis turns up the song on the radio just slightly, enough for Harry to recognize his dismissal of this conversation. 

The drive to Portland is mostly a highway lined with farms and rolling hills though in the spring there are usually baby sheep frolicking around. Seeing as it’s January, it’s a muddy grassland. Conversation sticks to general topics once again and only veers to slightly personal - one of Louis’s sisters planning her first tattoo, how Harry still can’t pinpoint the last time he saw his mom in person.

“It’s like,” Harry squishes his lips together, “I know she loves me, I know how important I am in her life but we’re still trains on different tracks, you know?”

“I know,” Louis says, well versed in Harry’s life history. 

“We left the same station but haven’t figured out how to make it back yet.” It sounds sadder than it is, he adds as a silent disclaimer. He never much felt like a lost ship at sea even with the rest of his family at other corners of the ocean. He had a found-family to ground him, an anchor in every storm who happened to be his boyfriend. What that makes him now - now that he’s lost the anchor? He doesn’t really want to consider. 

*

The library gave Louis some sort of fancy parking pass that gets them right in front of the venue once they arrive in Portland. The rain has gotten significantly worse and there are bright colored umbrellas like giant balloons all up and down the street. They check in for their access badges and Harry can’t help but get caught up in the enthusiasm as they walk toward the main ballroom where the exhibitions are set up. Everyone around them is jittery with enthusiasm and it feels catching.“This is exciting,” he says, grinning. 

Louis looks at him and then laughs. “I guess.”

“Isn’t this the most fun part of your job?” Harry asks as they cross over the threshold to the winding space of tables, tents and built out exhibits. “You can be excited too, you know.”

Louis smiles, “Yeah, alright. It is.”

“Mr. Book Buyer,” Harry says, quiet enough for just them. “This is a big deal.” He meets Louis’s eyes and realizes that along with everything else Louis said he paused in his life, letting himself be excited for his job may be one of them. “Enjoy it,” he says. 

Louis swallows. “You certainly seem to be,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. It’s his usual tactic of deflecting but Harry is used to it.

“Damn right,” he says. “Might just become a librarian.” They start walking toward the far wall where the stalls first begin. “One of those ones with a bus full of books, travel to different cities. A library on tour.”

“How would people return their books if you were on tour?”

Harry narrows his eyes at Louis, “Spit on my dreams why don’t you?” They both laugh and Harry feels it like butterflies taking flight in his stomach.

Going through the convention center is even more fun than Harry fully expected and a little bit…hot. Harry shouldn’t be thinking it considering they’re just friends but there’s something undeniably sexy about Louis carrying around pamphlets and talking with publishers, throwing out words Harry isn’t really familiar with and making decisions with confidence. Louis is truly in his element here and it’s not something Harry has gotten to see before. Not that Louis has ever seen him in his element - nursing is a rather private endeavor. Still, the opportunity is here and Harry can’t look away even as he tries to take pictures of the coolest art installations and ends up snagging one or two of Louis listening intently to authors or inspecting the quality of the toddler books. 

“Kids drool a lot,” Louis says to Harry as they move between booths. “So you need to make sure they don’t use flimsy paper in the baby books. They’ll get trashed in an instant.”

“I love that you know that,” Harry says with no hesitation; it’s completely honest.

They’re exhausted by the time they reach the other side of the convention center, over one-hundred booths behind them. Exhaustion shows in both of them as hunger and they agree easily to head further downtown to one of the breweries Portland is so well known for. Harry helps to carry part of Louis’s book information and samples to the car, loading up the trunk with a few boxes of discount books being sold in the lobby by local libraries.

Downtown is rainy and cold but the brewery they decide on has a huge fireplace stretching down the center with comfortable chairs around low tables. It feels like a living room rather than a restaurant but Harry is most pleased that neither one of them have been here before - no old memories lurking under tables. 

“I had-” Harry starts right as Louis says, “Do you-”

“You go,” they say at the same time then both laugh. 

Harry raises his eyebrows, “You first.”

Louis rubs his lips together. “I was just wondering if you wanted to get the giant soft pretzel with melty cheese dip,” he says, pointing it out on the menu.

“Yes,” Harry says, no hesitation. “Hell yes I do.”

Louis grins, “Thought so. Your turn now.”

“My turn?”

“What were you going to say?”

“Right.” Harry nods, “I got distracted by the pretzel. I was just going to say I had a lot of fun at the convention. It’s amazing how much effort goes into libraries. It’s incredible.”

“It takes a lot,” Louis agrees. “But then the money to buy all these books has to come from somewhere so I’ll spend the next two weeks trying to write the city, the county, and the state for grants. It’s a relentless cycle. Stressful, too. You don’t want to be the guy that gets the library shut down.”

“I know next to nothing about libraries but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen.”

Louis narrows his eyes, playful. “If you know nothing about libraries, how do you know that?”

“I know you,” Harry says simply. He’s only embarrassed by the sincerity as the words settle and fidgets with the menu. 

He’s rescued as their water appears at the edge of their table to take their order.They chat with him about beer - their specialties and his personal favorites. They both pick opposites - Louis dark and Harry light - but they order the same bacon cheeseburgers and, of course, the pretzel to share. 

“I haven’t been in a restaurant with someone else in a long time,” Louis says. “It’s nice.”

“Do you usually go alone?”

“Usually,” Louis says. “Or get it to go. Don’t really like to sit alone. It’s supposed to be peaceful but I feel like everyone is looking at me.”

“I like it,” Harry says. “Makes me feel mysterious. Like, people might wonder why I’m alone, you know? What my story is.”

“Yeah? You think they care about you that much?”

Harry laughs, “I don’t know. I try not to think about it. I don’t necessarily have friends to go grab a bite with.”

Their waiter brings their beers and they do a brief cheers before taking their first sips.

“What do you mean you don’t have friends?”

Harry shrugs, “I have co-workers who are my friends but it’s kind of like work-only. Not hanging out on off days or whatever. And it’s hard to make friends at our age, I guess? People are pretty set in their friend groups.”

Louis nods. “Makes sense. Maybe you could ask some co-workers to grab lunch on an off day or something. Start the conversation.”

Harry smiles, small. “Yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t even know which co-worker he could ask, and then putting in the effort to get up the courage to ask seems exhausting before he even starts. “It is nice to have someone to talk to, though.”

“Yeah. I should go out with Niall more but it seems like our hours are just at odds sometimes.”

Harry nods, he gets it. Their hours used to be at odds too but they used to work to make sure they could align in some ways. It’s when they stopped trying things started to unravel. “No dates for company?” It’s out before Harry thinks it through. This is becoming a scary habit around Louis lately - not that Harry seems to help it. They've already talked about whether they're seeing anyone currently but Harry wants to know about all the other time they've been a part - whether anyone else has slipped in.

Louis shakes his head. “No. I downloaded a couple apps but I haven’t really brought myself to go any further than having them on my phone.”

Harry shouldn’t have even asked. Even the fact they’re on Louis’s phone makes his stomach feel acidic. He asked the question, he should have expected an answer. This isn’t something for them to talk about - friends or not. He gets it now. 

“What about you?” Louis asks, missing the memo.

“No,” Harry says. “Nothing.” Not even a thought of doing it. He raises his chin like this is a point of pride but maybe it’s just pathetic. 

“Someday,” Louis says quietly like he’s trying to fill the space. 

Harry takes a sip of his beer and stares across the room. This is a terrible conversation to be having, a terrible future to contemplate: a someday with someone new. At what point will that sound appealing? He’s not sure. Maybe he had one chance and now that it’s fucked up, there’s no point trying again.

The soft pretzel manages to lift their spirits back from whatever gutter Harry led them to. It’s as perfect as they both hoped it would be and by the time they have their burgers, they’re both nearly in food comas. 

“Let’s walk a bit before we drive back,” Louis says once they pay for the meal and head back out to the rainy street. 

Powell’s books is only a few blocks away and they can’t resist a stop. Even against all the ghosts of memories Harry knows are lurking inside, he can’t miss their favorite place in Portland. They separate when they walk in and don’t meet up for another hour, both holding multiple books when they meet by the cash wrap. They compare titles in line and Harry isn’t surprised at the differences - Louis always goes for mysteries or historical fiction where Harry goes for the classics and romances.

They head back to the car as the rain starts to slow, both of them yawning when they glance at each other and then laughing it off. “You okay to drive?” Harry asks over another yawn.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Louis says, smirking. 

It takes awhile to get out of the city and then they’re back on the highway heading south, raindrops dancing and sliding down the car. “At least it’s not snow,” Harry says over another yawn.

“You can sleep if you want,” Louis says, laughing at him. “I won’t be offended.”

“No, I’m staying up,” Harry says, sitting up straighter. “Today was fun, I don’t want to end it by being lousy car company.”

“You’ve always been lousy car company.”

“Hey,” Harry says weakly, “Have not.” It’s not his fault moving vehicles and Louis’s soft humming have always served as a kind of sleeping pill.

“Today was fun though,” Louis says. “I agree with you there.”

“I’m a good time,” Harry says, “As you should know.” He laughs and then swallows it quickly. It feels like the wrong comment to make. 

They drive in quiet for a bit, the radio too low to make out any words, Harry’s eyes heavier with each passing exit. He thinks he’s about to lose the battle when Louis clears his throat. 

“Hey, H?”

“Yeah,” Harry asks, voice low like he’ll shatter the quiet if he talks any louder. 

“Do you, uh, do you ever wonder what happened to us? Wonder where we went wrong?”

Harry’s throat starts to tickle, his heart heavy against his chest. “Yes,” he says, quietly. Honestly. All the damn time, he adds silently. 

“Me too,” Louis says, almost to himself. 

Harry has no idea what to say so he lets the quiet lapse again, his heart a heavy weight on his lungs. He closes his eyes when he thinks he’s about to cry and then he doesn’t have the strength to open them again. They barely make it halfway home before Harry breaks his promise to stay awake and falls asleep fully. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis is on his second cup of coffee, one arm crossed over his chest, the cup pressed to the outside of his opposite arm. He’s been standing in the kitchen of his apartment staring at the final box he’s yet to unpack. He knows exactly what’s in it, what’s buried somewhere in the middle of everything else he’s shoved in it over the months. 

He knew he couldn’t unpack it with Harry hovering nearby but now he’s run out of excuses. Unpack is the wrong word, he thinks as he keeps staring. He’s certainly not keeping anything in the box but he should pull out the thing in the middle before he gives all of the stuff back to Harry. Nothing like accidentally giving someone an engagement ring in a box of their other belongings.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee and still doesn’t make a move toward the box. Yesterday with Harry felt like so many other days with Harry - laughing and teasing, falling into easy old patterns. It’s getting harder to remember why they can’t have days like those anymore, why their old life doesn’t make sense anymore. 

On the way home, Louis had to ask Harry if he still thought about them. There was something about the rainy highway and the sleepy silence that made it feel like the perfect opening. Louis had to know if it was only him tied in knots lately or if it was a shared confusion. Not that he knows what to do with what Harry said, the definite yes followed by complete silence. Harry had fallen asleep shortly after and Louis tried not to look over too often. When he pulled off the road to grab a bottle of water, he covered Harry with an old hoodie from the backseat, smiled at Harry’s twitching nose as he did. He kept waiting for Harry to wake up with a nightmare but it didn’t happen and, for some reason, he’d taken that as a personal accomplishment - as if it was his presence that controlled it. 

Not that any of that matters, though. This morning he woke up on a one track mission: the final box. With a deep breath, he finally sets his coffee on the kitchen table and crosses the room. 

The top of the box unfolds easily and he tries to be clinical as he pieces through all of Harry’s belongings. On top is the box of letters and notes Harry has written him, under that a sweatshirt from Harry’s nursing program and next to it a pair of boots he had left under the bed. Louis sets it out on the floor like evidence of a crime no one committed. There’s a few t-shirts that had been in the laundry and Harry’s half-used cologne he’d left on the bathroom counter. Louis can’t resist pressing the top of the bottle to his nose and it’s the single worst decision he’s made today. A rush of memories all at once: the ghost of a laughing Harry on a Friday night and a serious Harry the morning of a funeral, a dancing Harry as he sprayed it around and ran through it because he knew it would make Louis laugh. He sets the bottle down next to the other things, knows he’s getting close to the heart of the box. He moves one more pair of pink Vans and then there it is: a pair of thick red socks rolled up together. Louis bites his lip and slips to his knees and then cross legged, squeezing the heavy fabric in his hands. Slowly, he curls the outermost edge to unfurl the ball of socks. As he does, the small black box slips from the wool enclosure and into his lap with a soundless landing. 

“Fuck,” he says quietly. 

He squeezes the empty socks in his hands and tries to gauge the emotions welling in his stomach and chest. He still remembers the day he balled the tiny box up in the socks and tried to hide it in the back of his drawer. He put it in the very back and then moved it more toward the middle when it felt too obvious. It was January, a year ago this week when he did it. He kept thinking Harry would steal the socks and find the ring on accident and maybe that would be easier than Louis buzzing around trying to find a way to ask him to spend the rest of his life with Louis by his side. Though Harry stole countless other socks from Louis in the span between January and when he left in March, the red ones stayed untouched. 

Louis drops the socks and reaches for the ring box, opening it easily and with practiced hands. In the days after Harry left, it seemed like a ritual to get the socks and unfurl them to reveal the ring box. Then, to open it and stare, wonder when he would wake up from this nightmare. He always put the ring back in the socks, the socks back in the drawer. Just in case Harry came back, just in case none of this was real.

Louis runs his thumb over the smooth metal, the etched design Harry always said he wanted in an engagement ring. Maybe he never realized Louis was memorizing all his whispered dreams and design ideas. Louis would have loved to show him, would have selfishly loved to see the moment Harry realized just how well Louis knew him, loved him.  He takes a ragged breath as he closes the box in his palm and curls his fingers around it. He closes his eyes but it doesn’t stop the waves of deep sadness rolling under his lungs. It was supposed to get better, this feeling was supposed to fade. It hasn’t, he thinks as his insides squeeze. It really, really hasn’t.

Desperate to not spiral into a sad loaf of a human, Louis throws everything back into the box but the box with the ring and pulls himself from the ground. He takes the ring to his nightstand where he drops it in the top drawer amongst other random things like a flashlight, an unopened box of condoms and random spare change. 

“Depressing,” he mumbles as he presses the drawer closed. He grabs a jacket and steps into a pair of tennis shoes before leaving the apartment altogether. He’s going to go stir crazy if he doesn’t get out. 

He feels torn as he steps from the complex out in the cold morning. He zips his jacket and pulls it up around his ears. Part of him wants for Harry to disappear from Eugene as quietly as he re-arrived, for him to slink back to Chicago so Louis can continue the healing process. Continue seems like a brave word to use; restart seems a little more even-handed. The other part of him can’t bear the thought of Harry leaving again - of life going back to how it was. 

Slowly he sets off toward downtown, the plan for a cup of coffee and croissant cementing itself on this dreary day. It seems no matter which option Harry chooses, Louis will lose again - unhappiness seeping into every corner of his being, Not that he’s the only one - he’s seen the changes in Harry too. They’re both trying to figure it out, he gets it.  The worst part, the most backwards, is the brightest spot in these dark days is seeing Harry again, laughing with him and getting to be around him. It’s a curse of the most cruel degree; he’s well aware. 

His feet lead him to Salty’s without much direction from his head. It’s early enough the line is short and there are plenty of tables available. He grabs his croissant and coffee and heads toward a table in far corner, disappointed he forgot to bring a book with him. This is what Harry on his brain does - makes him, a librarian, forget to bring a book to quiet restaurant. It’s worse this morning than others considering how poisonous his thoughts have been since he woke up.  As if on cue, the chair across from him slides back and he looks up, startled. 

“Mind if I sit?”

Louis has absolutely no control over the slow unfurling smile on his lips as he takes in Harry in a faded grey sweatshirt and black track pants, a light pink beanie over his hair. “Not at all,” he says, motioning with his head. 

Harry sets down a half eaten scone and a cup of coffee before he sits. “I was sitting in the other corner when you came in,” he explains. “Felt odd to stay over there when I saw you come sit down.”

Louis’s lips twitch despite his best intentions. Few people in the world would see their ex across the room and come over anyway. He shouldn’t laugh - had he seen Harry first, he would have shown up at the edge of his table too. They really are the worst exes to ever exist.  “Well good,” Louis says. “I was just lamenting how I’d forgotten a book.”

“I’m more interesting than a book,” Harry says over a bite of his scone and Louis still can’t help his fond smile. 

“Of course you are,” he says. “Though it’s been less than twelve hours since I saw you last. Do you have anything new to tell me since then?”

Harry shrugs, “I slept the entire night.”

“Good,” Louis says, meaning it.

“I feel like a newborn reporting sleep habits. Maybe I should start recording food and bathroom breaks.”

“You’d have to consult your therapist on that one,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “And certainly don’t send any copies of your bathroom break journal to me.”

“Maybe it would be a picture journal,” Harry says, laughing even as he says it.

Louis takes a sip of coffee instead of dignifying him with an answer. “Has you therapist had any advice for the nightmares?”

“Kind of. A routine before bed is important and relaxing by reading or doing a mind puzzle. Getting enough sleep is part of it. Not thinking about the things I have nightmares about just before bed.” He pulls off the corner of his scone and squishes it between his fingers. “It’s bizarre because it’s all in my head. It’s just my own brain fucking with me.”

“I feel like our brains fuck with us all,” Louis says.

Harry swallows his bite. “I’m supposed to sleep in a safe environment,” he says. “Like, I can’t open the windows and I shouldn’t sleep somewhere I can fall. Just because I don’t know what my first reactions may be upon waking up.”

Louis clears his throat, “So falling asleep on the couch on Christmas?”

“Not so good,” Harry says, wincing like he’s remembering the fall that Louis can’t quite forget. “But I’ve slept on the couch before so I don’t know if that’s a fool proof rule.”

Louis shrugs, he’s no expert. 

“I’m also supposed to seek comfort afterwards,” he says. “Which has been, uh, tricky in Chicago to say the least.”

“Comfort,” Louis muses, “Like when you called me?” He watches Harry’s cheeks turn pink. 

“Yes, like that. If I can prove to myself the nightmare is fake that always helps. But when it’s replaying things that have already happened.” He exhales quickly through his nose. “It’s hard. I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to make you talk about it. I was just curious.”

“No, I know,” Harry says. “It’s good to actually talk about it for once. It’s not like anyone besides my therapist knows. And you.”

“Quite the high society club.”

“Quite,” Harry drawls. 

“Has your therapist said how they’ll stop altogether?”

Harry looks at the table for so long Louis almost thinks he didn’t ask it out loud. “She’s said it’s possible if I stop surrounding myself with the material that frightens me most.”

“Your job?”

Harry snorts, “Rich, isn’t it? The thing I’ve always wanted to do and turns out my head can’t quite handle it.”

Louis steps lightly on Harry’s foot, “Hey, don’t say that. You’re a wonderful nurse and your head is perfectly capable of performing as a nurse. Just because your heart hurts doesn’t mean your head is wrong. It makes you human, H.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Thank you.” He eats the last bit of his scone. “Anything happier to talk about or shall I keep going?”

Louis smiles. “You can keep going, if you want.”

“I’m alright.”

Louis nods. “Alright. Well, for what it’s worth,” he says, “You can always call me. Even if it’s not me in the nightmare. I may not be much help but I can certainly tell you when something isn’t real.” He’s been mostly talking to his hands so he’s surprised to see such raw emotion on Harry’s face when he looks up to meet his eyes. “What?” He asks quickly. 

“Nothing,” Harry says, glancing away. “You’re a good person, Louis.”

Louis opens his mouth and shuts it, wants to deflect with something funny but nothing comes. “Thank you,” he says instead. “I’m a work in progress but I do try.” 

“What are you up to today?” Harry asks when Louis looks away, too embarrassed at the compliments to keep eye contact. “Up early for something?”

“Just finishing unpacking,” Louis says before wishing he would have just bitten his tongue. “Last few boxes and stuff.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “I thought we got all the boxes.”

Louis shrugs like he’s been caught. As if Harry could possibly know Louis had a breakdown over a would-be engagement ring less than an hour ago. “What about you?” He tries to steer the conversation the other direction. 

“No plans,” he says. “Just trying to sort out my life. The usual.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Harry swipes some crumbs to the ground, “Not really. Just need to do some more thinking.”

“Right.” Louis nods, “Makes sense.”

“Actually, I do have one question. Do you think it’s too late for a new career?”

Louis feels the precious position of the question, the balance beam under his feet but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.” 

Harry nods. “Okay.”

“Are you,” Louis clears his throat, eloquence failing him. “Is that what you’re thinking about?”

Harry shrugs. “Thinking about a lot of things right now.”

He doesn’t seem to want to say more and Louis isn’t in the mood to push. “Okay. Do you want to walk over to Henry’s?”

“The bookshop? For what?”

Lous smiles, “I could always use something new to read.”

Harry smiles, his dimple curving in and doing something wholly unfair to Louis’s heart. “Then yes, I do want to walk over to Henry’s.”

“Okay,” Louis says. The only thought banging around his head is: _what the hell happened to us?_


	8. Chapter 8

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Monday’s are definitely sweeter without needing to go to work but Harry still wakes up with a pit in his stomach, nerves blooming. It’s been two weeks and he has two more - but as he agreed with the Human Resources department, he needs to call to check in at the hospital.  He makes himself a cup of tea in preparation, the house quiet with Niall already gone at school. His mug steams in front of him, his phone right next to it. All he can do is stare at both.  “Come on,” he says finally, encouragement to himself and to his hand to reach across the counter and pick up the phone.  He finds the hospital’s phone number, counts to three and presses call. Only when someone answers does he realize he was holding his breath. 

All in, the call takes maybe five minutes. The Human Resources lady is kind and polite as she asks how his holiday was and then how he’s feeling. Even wrapped in a blasé question, Harry knows she’s not asking how he’s feeling at the moment but about quite a few other things. He tries to be honest: he’s still having nightmares but taking the time off is helping him to put some things in perspective.  “Do you still think you’ll be returning to the hospital at the end of the month?”

Harry closes his eyes and feels like an absolute loser. Embarrassed, he says, “Yes, still planning on it.” His cheeks flare even though he’s not sure if he’s lying or telling the truth yet. So much of this whole thing makes him feel like a failure and it’s wrecking havoc on his heart, his self esteem. 

The call ends shortly after and Harry troops back to his bedroom to get his computer. He brings it downstairs to Niall’s kitchen and pulls up Google. _Is changing careers at age 27 a bad idea?_ He types in followed by the sharp stroke of the enter button. He expects Google to pull up an error page or just a page that says “Harry Styles is an idiot” but it doesn’t happen. Instead, a full page of results come up and he almost smiles. Thank god. At the end of his rope, he may have just found a few more inches. 

After a few hours when the computer screen starts to blur, he pulls on his jacket and heads out for a walk - a dull attempt to clear his head. Starting anything new seems scary and setting out for a new career falls firmly in that arena. Deciding to start a new career is one thing but picking which new career feels like there’s a black hole of choices and Harry is overwhelmed at the possibilities. 

He thinks about it more as a light rain falls, his face misted with cold drops as he adjusts his hood. He knows he likes kids, likes helping - but he knows he doesn’t want to a be a teacher. Figuring out how to connect the two and demystifying the middle seems like a lonely road to wander. Then there’s the whole mess of deciding to stay in Chicago, coming back to Eugene, starting somewhere new. It leaves his mind a mess even considering it, makes him want to start running until he can find an edge to fall over.

Before he knows it, he looks up to find he's standing outside of Louis’s library. It's like a new return to an old normal - stumbling toward Louis when the ground doesn’t quite feel straight. It takes a few minutes of convincing before he builds up the nerve to go inside the library, not exactly sure what he plans to do once past the front doors. 

The answer doesn’t become much more clear in the quiet space surrounded by books, the low hum of a copying machine somewhere off to the side. He glances toward the front desk where the receptionist - Lauren - is sitting. She spots him right away, her eyes narrowing as she studies him. He feels like a complete idiot as he suddenly turns on his heel and leaves the exact way he came. Despite his own turmoil, he knows he can’t lodge himself back in Louis’s life like this - can’t just show up at his work place unannounced and then linger like a criminal. 

There’s a bench under the overhang of the library, dry despite the consistent rain slipping from the grey sky. He plops down, defeated. This morning has set something shifting in him, ending up at the library seems only to have pushed it further. He can’t keep running from his life, from making decisions. He’s not seventeen with a big paper due, he’s much closer to thirty and with a full time career that scares him. It’s everything he never thought would happen to him but it’s also his life - and he’s only got one. Sitting around Eugene fearing everything that happens next is certainly not going to get him anywhere fast.  He needs to go back to Chicago and face his demons head on. Whatever the fuck that even means anymore. 

“Hey.”

Maybe it’s a sign - but he’s not sure what it could be for but suddenly Louis is standing in the doorway of the library, his elbow on the door to keep it open. “Were you waiting for me?”

Harry opens his mouth, closes it. Color floods his face. Worse than having a crisis, is having someone else be able to see it. “Uh,” he says elegantly. 

“Lauren said she saw you come in and then go sit outside.”

Lauren. Harry had wondered if she had it out for him. “I did do that,” he says, still not being perfectly clear. 

“But you didn’t want to see me?”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Harry says quickly. He runs his hand back through his hair. “I just ended up here on like accident, I guess. I don’t know.”

Louis narrows his eyes just slightly, “You ended up here on accident but don’t want to not see me?”

Harry takes a moment to parse out the particulars of what he’s just said. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Louis hums and nods, much kinder than Harry could expect in this situation. “Right. Have you had lunch?”

Harry shakes his head, “No.” He’s not even sure how long he’s been walking - if lunch time has already come and gone. 

“Me neither. Will you wait while I grab my coat? There’s a new place nearby I want you to try.”

Harry blinks slowly because this isn’t how he expected any of this to go. “Okay, sure.”

He waits on the bench while Louis runs back inside, his mind still spinning from his earlier Google searches. He’s not sure what he was waiting on before Louis came out - what exactly he would have done next. Probably spin his thoughts into a whirlwind of more anxiety he doesn’t need in his life. Leave it to Louis to be the one to swoop in and silence the demons again. He twists the ring on his pointer finger as he stares at the wet pavement. Seems like Louis has been the one to swoop in a lot lately. 

“Ready?”

He looks up. “Yes, of course.” He stands and presses down the quiet, malicious voices in the back of his head; the ones telling him not to get too dependent on something, someone he can’t keep.

“I’ve only been here once,” Louis says after they’ve been walking for a couple blocks. “But I actually thought of you. Thought you would like it.” 

He looks sheepish after he says it but Harry smiles encouragingly. At least he thinks it’s encouraging; the more color Louis injects into stories of the last nine months, the more Harry’s stomach scrunches. “Why’s that?”

Louis shrugs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat. “You know how we used to cook and then never want to do the dishes?”

Harry smiles, “Yes. Everyday of our lives.”

“This is a cooking but no dishes kind of restaurant.”

“You have to pay to cook your own food?”

“You’ll see,” Louis says with a smug smile. 

Harry’s confusion doesn’t ebb as they approach a nondescript brick building. There’s graffiti on the side and absolutely no signage indicating what the place is. “This isn’t creepy at all.”

“Have I led you wrong before?”

The first thing to come to mind is a distinct memory of Louis taking Harry to a sushi making class where, Harry quickly learned, they were responsible for killing and gutting their own fish for their meal. He’d dry heaved into a garbage can while Louis turned oddly green-toned.

“Don’t answer that,” Louis says, holding the door open. 

Harry takes a cautious step inside. He wonders if Louis was having the same flashback. “Sushi?” He asks, smirking. 

Louis’s laughter is surprised. “Forgot about that one. Was actually thinking of that Groupon.”

Harry nearly trips over his own feet as he laughs, the feeling overtaking him as he tries to catch his breath. “I forgot about that one.”

Louis had bought a Groupon for a double date dinner as a way for them to meet other couples once all of their friends had graduated college. It was a decidedly sensual dinner with a straight couple they hadn’t met before and it took an hour for them to realize they were being propositioned by a couple of swingers. Harry still remembers the feral curl of protectiveness he’d felt when the other guy had put a possessive hand over Louis’s knee like he owned him. They’d never fled a restaurant quite so fast. 

“Yeah, well, it’s forever in my memory, don’t worry.” Louis smiles and there is a lightness to his eyes Harry used to love. As if he notices it too, Louis’s smile dims just slightly. “For the record, we’re going in the back entrance. That's why it looks so sketch. The front is harder to get in coming from the library.”

“Fair enough.”

Louis leads Harry down a dark hallway and then down a set of old, black metal steps that shake with each step. Harry is about to say he’s doubting Louis even more so when they arrive in the middle of a perfectly civilized restaurant with no warning. 

“Pietro’s,” Louis says, motioning around. 

There are long metal tables in neat rows with tubs of ingredients spread around, a wood fire oven along the side wall. The smell is mouthwatering as Harry watches a man in a white apron slide a perfectly cooked pizza from the wood fire oven.  “Pizza?” He asks like he can’t tell. 

“Pizza,” Louis confirms. “We start over there, make the crust and then go through the buffet of toppings before they finish it off in the oven.”

“Incredible.”

“Really?” Lous tilts his head, “I was nervous if you would like it after Chicago, pizza capital of the world.”

Harry grimaces, “Not that good actually. Or, not that good when your heart isn’t really in it.” 

He’s probably made pizza too dramatic but Louis nods like he understands. “Shall we?”

It’s the best weekday lunch Harry can remember as they inexpertly toss their dough and get flour on their clothes. Louis plans his pizza toppings perfectly and Harry gets a bit too excited by the endless opportunities and ends up with a little bit of everything on his pizza. At the end of the line, they give it to a chef who puts it in the oven and they take a number to a table to wait for it to be done.  “Do you have enough time to wait?” Harry asks once they’ve gotten glasses of ice water and find an empty booth. “I don’t mean to hog your lunch break.”

Louis shakes his head, “I’m kind of my own boss these days. Besides, it’s not everyday you have a friend in from out of town, you know. Everyone gets it.”

Harry nods, his tongue suddenly thick. “I’ve been thinking about that actually. The out of town thing.”

Louis raises his chin slightly, listening but not offering. It’s like yesterday when they accidentally met at the bakery. Louis is the steady constant as Harry’s brain scatters. 

“I’ve been thinking more and more about staying in Eugene.” He says it to the table because though he wants to get it off his chest, he doesn’t exactly look forward to seeing Louis’s reaction play across his face.

“Okay,” Louis says, measured and easy. “Would you still want to get into nursing? You could always go back to Sacred Heart and see what jobs they have.”

Harry takes a moment to catch his breath. For some reason he didn’t expect to get to talk about it like this. “I don’t know,” he says when he looks up. He’s startled by Louis looking right back at him, eyes so clear as he listens. “I’ve been thinking more about changing, moving away from nursing.”

Again, Harry might expect surprise but instead Louis nods. “That’s a big move.”

Harry nods back. His chest feels heavy even admitting he might want to move. Isn’t this the ultimate failure? To admit your dreams were dusty and you’ve made bad choices all along. “It’s actually really hard to even say it out loud.”

Louis presses his lips together and Harry has to look away. Friends or not, exes or not, admitting things like this isn’t easy. “It’s a start.”

Harry meets his eyes again. “What?” 

“It’s hard to sort things out in your head, right? So sometimes you need to start saying them out loud to wrap your mind around it. It doesn’t mean you have to do something once you say it. Nothing is set in stone.”

It’s not at all what he expected to hear but somehow it is what he needed. The problem is each time Louis does something like this, the more Harry can’t remember the reasons he left in the first place.“That’s a really good point,” he says out loud. 

“Thank you,” Louis says, smirking. “I do try.” 

Harry laughs and it feels like a weight off his chest to actually laugh in a conversation like this. There’s relief in laughter, in having someone to talk to about the things rattling in his brain. 

“Have you thought about what you would want to do instead of nursing?”

Harry clears his throat. Some things he’s not as sure about saying out loud - even if it doesn’t make them any more real - and this is one. He takes a deep breath and does it anyway. “My passion is really in helping kids - like, that’s where I’ve come back to over and over. The root of me being a nurse was to get into pediatrics and to help kids.”

“To save the world,” Louis says, so quietly it seems like an accident.

Harry pauses briefly but Louis doesn’t repeat himself louder. He continues, “But I think my brain is finally opening to the possibility there are more ways to help kids than just the ones who are sick or arrive via ambulance, you know?”

Louis nods, “You don’t have to wear scrubs to save the world.”

Harry’s lips part and then he nods. “Yes. Exactly.” What that means, what he’ll do with that, remains to be figured out but, as Louis said, saying it out loud is a step. And a step is sometimes all it takes. 

Their pizza arrives shortly after and Harry’s is just as delicious as he had hoped, toppings piled high. “Give me a piece,” Louis says when Harry has made a dramatic show of enjoying a slice. Harry laughs and cuts him one, laughs harder when Louis admits how good it tastes. This is what his life has been missing, he thinks, somewhere in a cheesy, gooey haze of a pizza lunch. Except it’s more than the friend and the conversation; he knows deep under his lungs. It’s Louis. He’s been missing Louis in ways he hasn’t fully admitted but feeling up those spaces like this feels good for the moment, at least. A temporary fix until an invisible dam breaks. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis meets Liam at a bar near the marketing firm where Liam works. It’s been eating Louis alive since Annie Jones’ engagement party - the lie he’s been telling Liam for months. It’s not a lie, he’s reasoned with himself a few times. He just told Liam Harry had gone to Chicago for a job and he left all the details about what that really meant as mysterious unknowns. Part of him thought people would just figure it out after they didn’t see Harry around anymore but the engagement party was a pretty good indicator that he was wrong on that front. 

It was okay for the mere acquaintances to get it wrong, the people they’ve lost touch with. It wasn’t okay for Louis to let one of his oldest friends get it wrong. He knows this. He also knows he told Harry he was getting better, he was moving on. Now, he needs to prove it to himself. He needs to start packing away Harry and his ghosts in their proper boxes one last time. He needs to tell Liam the truth even if it hurts. 

The final push to tell the truth came at lunch with Harry earlier in the week and Harry admitting he might stay in Eugene. It made Louis realize he is losing time to tell the truth on his own, before everyone finds him out as a liar as Harry seeps back into this city. 

Liam comes in a few minutes past their agreed meeting time which means Louis has had the time to down a full beer and order a second. He has first date nerves except for this being much bigger than a first date - admitting he hasn’t been completely honest seems harder than all first dates combined. 

Like always, Liam grins when he see him. He crosses the bar with the wide smile and bright eyes, a puppy dog of a man who has always been there for him. They’ve lost day to day touch since college, as they were ought to do, but their closeness has never dissipated or weakened with time. “Louis,” he says with the same big smile, tugging him from his chair into a hug as Louis tries to not let his beer tip over. 

“Liam,” Louis says quieter, squeezing his broad shoulders then letting him settle on the barstool next to him.

“Everything good?” Liam asks, gesturing to the bartender for a beer to match Louis’s. 

Louis swallows, “Yeah, yeah. I hope I didn’t worry you asking to grab a drink like this.”

Liam wriggles his eyebrows, “Don’t worry. I think I know what’s going on.”

Louis tilts his head, “You do?” There’s no way he does, not with the way he’s smiling. Still, Louis could use the humor of his best guess right now.

“I mean, it’s obvious with Harry back in town.” Liam grins wider, “You finally popped the question.” He says it like the culmination of the easiest clues ever, his voice light and happy, eyes shining. 

Louis deflates. In all the ways he thought this would be hard, it has just intensified ten-fold, his heart heaving in his chest. He can’t let this spiral, certainly can’t fake an engagement to Harry, particularly not if Harry is going to live in Eugene. “No, not that,” he says, his voice tight. Liam’s smile freezes and dims. Louis takes a deep breath, “That’s kind of what I need to talk to you about, though.”

“You can tell me,” Liam says, face suddenly so serious Louis can’t look away. 

It’s not as easy to spill secrets to Liam as it ever was to Harry but Louis certainly tries his best. He leaves out the lowest parts - saves those for Niall’s memories instead - but he tells him the parts he can talk about easily. He doesn’t drag Harry through the mud but spreads the fault evenly. He doesn’t have a therapist to tell his story to so this seems like the closest thing to it - Liam’s understanding nods and polite questions. It goes so well that b y the time they are parting ways at the front of the bar, Louis feels like a weight has been lifted despite the lingering knots in his stomach. Liam took his belated honesty in a way only Liam could - blaming himself for not being more available for Louis to feel like he could tell him the truth. Louis feels a lot like one of those #blessed influencers on Instagram as he hugs Liam and sends him toward his car, a light rain slipping from dark clouds. 

“Have a good weekend,” he calls and Liam waves with another grin as he disappears further in the parking lot.

Slowly, Louis exhales. Healing starts with one step and he’s taken a few this week alone. He could really use another drink though. His phone buzzes in his jacket and he pulls it out. Niall’s twenty year old face with his tongue stuck out greets him on the screen. “Hello,” he answers, smiling despite himself. Looking for a drink and summoning Niall seems like some kind of coincidence. 

“Hello,” Niall says, cheery as ever. “Harry and I are at my place, thinking about hitting the bars. Would you like to join us?” 

Louis shoves his free hand in his pocket and looks out at the parking lot. Does it count as healing if he unloads his demons only to turn around and get drunk with a different version of the same ones? He’s not so sure he has an answer. He just knows for now, this moment, it feels right. “I’d love to.”  He agrees to meet Niall at his place and drives over with a flutter of butterflies in his stomach - though some of them have spikes.

*

There’s the low thrum of Lizzo playing when he lets himself inside Niall’s front door - the laughter accompanying it making the house sound full of people. Louis gets a flare of nervous energy at walking into a place with unexpected faces but he only finds Harry and Niall in the kitchen. Niall, for his part, is up on a chair dancing like he’s on a stage while Harry sits at the counter with a sly smile, his cackle laughter bubbling up every couple of seconds. 

“Louis!” Niall calls when he sees him, jumping off the chair in dangerous fashion and scooping him into a squeezing hug. “Love you, man.”

“I saw you two days ago,” Louis says, pressing him back gently. “Impossible to miss me this much.”

“Shut up,” Niall says with a dramatic eye roll. “Go say hello to Harry.” He shoves Louis toward the counter and Louis rolls his eyes right back at him. Niall laughs and goes back to dancing, singing into a vodka bottle like a microphone. 

It’s been three days since lunch with Harry so maybe he’s just as excited to see him as Niall. He’s struck, as usual, by Harry’s casual beauty as he looks over at Louis. His face is open, smile easy and hair perfectly disheveled like he’s had his hands in it. His foot taps to the beat of the music, his finger drawing along the edge of his glass.  “Hi,” he says as Louis draws near. 

“No dramatic hug like Mr. Horan?” Louis grins as he says it but it feels quite stilted once the words leave his mouth. Pressing his body to Harry’s sounds like something they aren’t supposed to be doing. 

“Nah,” Harry says. “I’ve built up more of a tolerance to not seeing you, you know.”

Louis can’t actually help his jaw dropping at the bluntness of the joke. Harry’s jaw drops open in a clear mimic and then he laughs, his face going pink. “Too soon for break up jokes?” 

Louis shakes his head, at a loss for words to string themselves together for him. It’s funny but it’s terrible and it hurts his chest. He doesn’t know how to articulate that. “Too soon,” he says finally. “Funny,” he allows, “But too soon.”

Harry smiles, shy. “Sorry. I’ve had a couple drinks.”

Louis presses his lips together to stay quiet but a laugh slips out anyway. “Christ, we’re pathetic.”

Harry’s smile grows slightly and then he laughs and bites his bottom lip. “We are.”

Louis nods, “Okay, as long as we agree.” Harry is still biting his lip, and _god_, Louis needs a drink. 

“Shots?” Niall calls loudly from across the kitchen like he’s read Louis’s mind again. “Let’s do shots.”

They take straight vodka shot followed by orange juice like they’re twenty-one again and all gag and splutter like they never used to do. After two each, Niall decides Louis has to take another one on his own and Louis agrees to it to be a good sport even as Harry tells him he doesn’t have to. 

“We shouldn’t go to a bar,” Niall says after he’s done cheering on Louis’s shot. “We should go to the club.”

There are two clubs in all of Eugene - neither one all that great - but Louis shrugs anyway. “Sure.” Niall grins and then disappears upstairs to put on different pants as he says his teacher trousers are not club acceptable. 

Louis sits next to Harry and waits for Harry to look over at him. The bass of some electro-pop song is pulsing around them even as they just look at each other. “Guess what I did tonight,” he says.

“What?” Harry asks. He tilts his head and leans forward, the way he does when he’s had a few drinks. Louis used to kiss him when he did it, tell him he was invading his personal space. Here, Louis leans back just slightly. Harry clocks the movement and moves back too. Pathetic, both of them. 

“I went to grab a beer with Liam and I told him the truth.”

Harry swallows, his eyes on Louis’s mouth. He draws them back to his eyes. “The truth?”

“I told him we broke up,” Louis says. “I apologized for letting him think we hadn’t.”

A moment of quiet hangs, quiet besides the bass behind them. “You told him.”

“Yes,” Louis confirms. 

Harry smiles but there’s a skipped beat there where he seems to frown. “That’s so great,” he says and his sullen voice betrays his smile. “That’s great,” he repeats, clearly attempting to infuse more enthusiasm in his tone. 

“What’s great?” Niall asks as he comes back into the kitchen wearing startlingly similar pants to his “teacher trousers”. 

“Louis told Liam we broke up,” Harry says, a pasted on smile on his face. 

Has Harry always been this terrible of a liar? Louis stares at him before turning to Niall. “Just before I came here.”

“Good,” Niall says. He pauses the music and the silence feels drowning. “That’s good.”

Louis swallows, heavy in the quiet. “Let’s take another shot.”

Niall cheers and Louis can’t meet Harry’s eyes. He pours them each a shot as Niall fills their glasses chaser. “Cheers to tonight,” Niall yells far too loudly for just the three of them in a quiet kitchen. “Let’s get in some trouble.”

“Cheers,” Louis echoes but Harry stays quiet. They don’t even mimic raising their glasses before taking the shots. Niall gags loudly but as Louis swallows, his only attention is on Harry who is staring back at him with something like confusion in his eyes. Louis ignores him and drowns the vodka with the orange juice. Tonight is going to be interesting. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Clubs in Eugene are hardly more than a bar with a dance floor but Harry doesn’t care when the music is thrumming and the lights are low. He’s hardly ever in the mood to dance but he took enough shots at Niall’s and another one at the bar here, so he swears he can feel the music in his bones. Niall and Louis decidedly do not want to dance if the way they look at him when he suggests it is anything to go off of. 

They have one of the high top tables off to the side of the mass of bodies grinding in synchronous patterns on the dance floor. There’s a ball with multicolored lights throwing colors around the room and it looks fun in a way dance floors have never looked fun before. Harry glances at Louis again. “Please?”

“Please what?” Louis says. “Dance? No.” He laughs and takes a sip of his beer and Harry frowns. He can’t exactly feel his lips when he does it which doesn’t seem like a great sign of being sober. He drank far more at Niall’s then he meant to, Louis’s sudden appearance and confession certainly egging him on. 

“Niall?” Harry asks, turning and flickering his eyebrows in what he hopes is a suggestive way to make him come dance.

“Maybe. Let me finish this,” Niall says, swirling around a vodka soda.

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches for his own vodka soda. He notices Louis watching him as he misses the grasp on the glass once before finally picking it up. He takes an exaggerated sip. It’s not like he’s blacked out, and it’s not like he’s the only one drinking - Louis doesn’t need to look at him like that. 

Somewhere, in the non-vodka infused part of his brain, he knows he’s being bitter. It’s just - he swallows his first sip and then takes another. It’s just that he _knows_ Louis is moving on, _needs_ to move on, Louis told him that much - but actually seeing it’s happening in front of it, hearing about the ways he’s moving on is harder to handle than he anticipated. It’s selfish, he gets it. He yelled at Louis for not telling anyone about them and now can’t hold a conversation after Louis did finally tell someone. 

Unexpectedly, he reaches the bottom of his drink, the ice cubes sliding up to knock against his teeth. “Whoops,” he says, setting the glass down. Niall whoops like they’re freshly nineteen again and Louis laughs before giving Harry a measured look that seems too sober for where Harry is.“Don’t judge me,” he says, his brain to mouth filter powering off for the night. 

“I’m not,” Louis says easily, like Harry is paranoid. 

It makes him blush. Or maybe it’s just too warm in here. It’s hard to tell. He tugs on his sweater and attempts to let air under his shirt but it doesn’t quite help.

“You hot?”

Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis’s question. “Yeah,” he says. “Thought everyone knew that though.” He laughs after he says it because he’s always been a terrible flirt. Louis rolls his eyes.  He shouldn’t even be flirting with Louis; he already knows. He picks up his glass and fishes out an ice cube. Water would be good for him about now. He crunches the ice cube between his teeth and watches as Louis and Niall have a conversation he can’t quite follow. It’s too loud to hear anyway plus they seem to be too serious for talking in a club so he ignores them. Two ice cubes down and he leans closer into the table to say, “Bathroom,” before gesturing with his head toward the back hallway. 

“Hurry back,” Niall says as he smacks a kiss on Harry’s cheek, Louis doesn’t even acknowledge him. Not that Harry even cares. 

He’s a bit more drunk than he realizes. He finds this out as he walks toward the bathroom and finds he’s moving on a diagonal instead of a straight line. He pauses to right himself and chances a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone saw. Niall is talking to someone at another table and Louis is looking at his phone but Harry swears his eyes flicker away from the screen. Whatever. It doesn’t actually matter. 

Harry hasn’t drank in “going out” amounts in a very long time. Not since before he moved to Chicago and, even then, he and Louis spent so much of their time arguing or upset, they weren’t really in the mood for a club. Clearly abstaining from shots is kicking him in the ass now. 

Clubs used to be their vibe in college - the place to be on a Friday night once Louis figured out how to get Harry inside before he was twenty-one. The trick was a friendly bartender and a back door they certainly didn’t take for granted. There was incredible freedom in being in a club and not twenty-one but Harry got a greater high off being with his _boyfriend_ in a club. They used to use the dance floor as their own private space, getting too drunk and too handsy for the public-eye. 

Harry walks the familiar hallway to the bathroom with ghosts of a younger him and Louis chasing after him, slamming each other into the walls to make out before locking themselves in a stall in the men’s room and getting up to no good. They were wildly in love, Harry remembers it like sweet candy. He presses open the door to the bathroom and lets the memories go quiet. 

After he uses the restroom, he washes his hands and stares into the mirror. He can tell the ways he’s aged since their blow-jobs-in-a-bathroom-stall phase. There are lines around his eyes when he smiles, a sharper jawline where he grew out of all remaining baby fat. He looks tired though, and it feels permanent. His eyes are heavy with alcohol but with the weight of his life hanging over him they look just the same. He keeps relying on Louis to help buoy the sadness and anxiety, help work him through it. Meanwhile Louis is busy telling the truth and moving on, unpacking his baggage (literally) and healing in his own way. It seems like Harry coming back has only spurred on the process for him. 

Harry blinks on the last thought, his throat feeling thick. It’s sad. He’s sad about it and he doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe it’s okay, here in the quiet bathroom with just himself as company. When Louis still hadn’t told anyone they broke up, Harry felt the flicker of something he didn’t know he wanted to feel. He pretended it wasn’t there, kept acting like they needed to grow up - but it was alive in his chest anyway. It was the flicker of a chance - at what exactly, he doesn’t know. It doesn't matter anymore, though; Louis certainly squashed any flicker of a chance tonight.  He takes a deep breath. He needs to not think about his sadness; he needs another drink. 

He presses back out of the bathroom as someone else comes in, a younger guy who must be in college, his cologne following in a cloud. Harry smiles. Ah, to be young again. They wished they would get older but standing here on the other side doesn’t seem all that great after all. 

A familiar Sam Smith song comes on as he curves through the hallway back into the main space.  _I don’t want to be alone tonight. / _ _It’s pretty clear that I’m not over you. /_ _I’m still thinking about the things you do. _ He blinks quickly at the lyrics and lets them blur. He doesn’t need Sam Smith to narrate the soundtrack to his life. He needs to get back to Louis and Niall. Maybe he’ll get another drink but maybe he’ll just get a glass of water. The high of sadness doesn’t hit like an upper. 

“Hi.”

He pulls up short as someone slides right in front of him. “Hello,” he says. His voice feels a little tight so he coughs lightly. 

“How’s it going?”

Harry blinks and takes in the voice and the man in front of him. He’s just a hair shorter than Harry, broader and blonde, a sly smile as he waits for Harry’s answer. “I’m fine.” The guy sticks his hip out slightly and Harry is suddenly very aware that he sounds like he’s having a conversation with a bank teller and this guy is about to hit on him. Harry smiles, “How are you?”

“Better now,” the guy says, in something like a predictable turn of events. “Not every night you run into a real life angel.”

Harry has to laugh - _has _to. People don’t say that in real life, and certainly not to him. “You can’t possibly think that’s a good pick up.”

The guy laughs and bites his lip, “What can I say? You’re kind of making me lose my train of thought.”

Harry’s a little speechless. When guys used to hit on him, he’d play into a little until he could make it known he had a boyfriend. That worked unless Louis made himself known first, usually appearing when Harry least expected him. He used to love it, the attention first but then the feeling of Louis slipping a hand around his waist, a kiss to his neck. The whole ordeal was always sexy on a selfish level.  Since they broke up,though, he hasn’t been on the receiving end of such blatant flirtation. There’s no one to save him now, he knows that well. Maybe its time to lean into it without the safe guard of a boyfriend, maybe it’s time for the rebound. “Do I?” He says and he tilts his head the way he knows how, sits into his hip slightly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” the guy says. “What’s your name?”

Harry knows he needs to get out of his head and Louis needs to get off of his mind so he tries to play along.  “I’m Harry,” he says with a smile over his own name like it’s a joke. 

He means to ask the guy for his name too but then the guy leans forward and hooks one finger in the belt loop of Harry’s pants. “Dance with me, Harry?”

He tugs slightly and Harry takes a step forward though he could easily resist. His hand comes up to the guy’s shoulder to stop himself from folding forward, the heavy muscle there. It’s kind of fun, actually. Feeling wanted, feeling sexy. Lately he’s felt a lot like road kill, quite honestly. The guy takes the pause as hesitation. He tugs the belt loop again, his eyes dropping down between them suggestively enough to make Harry take notice. “Want to see what you can do.”

Harry certainly isn’t a dancer and he’s never really been one to know how to coordinate his limbs all together - usually Louis took the lead. He’s about to explain that - something like that without the Louis part - when there’s another tug on his body. This time it’s his free wrist and not his belt loop. It’s funny, the feeling of his wrist being pulled as he still feels the nameless strangers finger in his belt loop. The way he turns his hip at the force of his wrist being yanked surely nearly breaks the guy’s finger. He would laugh if his eyes didn’t fall on the person pulling him by the wrist. 

It’s Louis and he looks annoyed as he pulls Harry a few steps further away from the dance floor. “What are you doing?” Harry asks, yanking his wrist back. He glances over his shoulder but the guy he was talking to is already gone, weaving into the dance floor without a look back. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Louis meets his eyes and shrugs, “You don’t want to be talking to him.”

Harry’s eyes bulge. “What? Why?” He shakes his head before Louis can answer, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You’re drunk,” Louis says like it’s some sort of explanation. 

“So are you,” Harry says, “Doesn’t mean I’m dragging you through a club.”

“I didn’t drag you.”

“Yes, you did. That guy asked me to dance and you literally dragged me away.”

“You don’t want him,” Louis says again, crossing his arms as if he knows. 

“Maybe I fucking did,” Harry says, louder than a moment before. The music drowns the sound for everyone but Louis. “Then you came over and ruined it.” He sounds much more impassioned than he really feels. The guy was alright, he was laying it on a bit thick, but there’s something about Louis stepping in that is making his blood boil.

“He watched you go to the bathroom, H,” Louis says.He says it like this is a federal crime. “He stood right there and waited for you to come back. You don’t want that.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Harry says, ignoring the bathroom comment. He probably doesn’t want someone lingering around outside the bathroom, he agrees. But he’s mad now and doesn’t want to agree. Sadness gives way to anger and he thought he’d gotten through all the steps of dealing with loss months ago but maybe it’s time to start again. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Maybe not,” Louis admits. His voice still hasn’t raised like Harry’s. “But you don’t want him.”

Harry rolls his eyes and repeats himself, “You have no idea what I want.”

“You want a guy who pulls on your fucking belt loop like he owns you? Really?” 

“Maybe,” Harry says, far too loudly this time. “Maybe it’s time to try something new.” He’s trying to get a rise out of Louis and this time it works, Louis’s lips parting in slight surprises. Harry knows him well enough to read it clearly. 

“You don’t want that,” he says. 

It’s a weak argument and Harry scoffs. “What, do _you_ want me?” He raises his chin as he says it. He doesn’t believe it, not really. He just wants to keep Louis mad.

“No. No, I don’t.” It hurts more when he says it out loud. Harry knows he’s asking for the truth but it doesn’t change the way it stings.“But you don’t want him.”

Harry rolls his eyes to play off the unsettling feeling in his stomach. “It’s nice to feel wanted. So, yeah, maybe I do want him for tonight.”

Those words land like bullets and Louis takes a step closer to Harry his jaw tight. “Don’t say that.”

“See? You don’t want someone else to have me.” Harry narrows his eyes, “But you don’t even want me.”

Louis’s jaw flickers, Harry is close enough to see it. “Harry,” he says lowly. “Don’t act like this.”

If Harry was sober, if he wasn’t angry, maybe those words would hit him like bullets too but in this case they only act like rocket fuel. “I’m going to go find someone who wants me and actually cares about me,” he says. 

Louis shakes his head, annoyed. “What are you even saying? You’re being an idiot.”

Harry leans in close enough for their breath to mix, pauses for a beat and then: “Bye, Louis.” He pulls back with purpose, turns back toward the dance floor, toward the nameless guy who pulled his belt loops but might make him forget about the massive thorn in his side named Louis. 

The crowd doesn’t move easily as he cuts through and his eyes are too tired to make out actual faces. There’s no way he’s going to find the same guy again, but at least he looks like he's trying. At least Louis will leave thinking Harry is hooking up with some random dude, getting spread out on someone else’s sheets. He’s moving on even as he feels like he might cry. Bodies press all around him but he feels rather lonely still, a feeling he can’t seem to escape. 

This time when he’s jerked around suddenly, he stumbles right into the most familiar body he’s ever known. “Louis,” he breathes in surprise, shock, and relief all at once. He can smell Louis’s cologne, the beer on his breath, the body wash on his skin and its absolutely intoxicating. 

With the way Harry has stumbled, he can feel his chest against Louis’s with every inhale. If the music stopped, and everyone disappeared, he thinks their heartbeats could hear each other too. Louis holds his wrist and squeezes just enough for Harry to know this is real, not an elaborate vodka induced dream. “Don't ever say that I don't still care for you,” Louis says. His mouth is pressed so close to Harry’s ear, Harry can feel his scruff against his jaw. It’s not in the anger of the other side of the dance floor, or in the joke tone of their other conversations lately. This is quiet, intimate, personal. This is for Harry and Harry alone. 

Quicker than a heartbeat, Louis lets go and pulls back, turns and disappears back the way he came. He’s gone before Harry can even inhale. And as Harry watches him go, all he can think is how watching Louis leaves feels like all the light is leaving the room too. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

It’s cold as hell outside. Louis should have expected it considering it’s January. It’s not like his brain is working all that well after what just happened in the club. As if he even knows _what _just happened. 

He sets off down the main road to his apartment. It would certainly be easier to grab a cab but with the level of tension in his body, he could certainly use a walk. 

It was something about being in that room - all the memories chasing him around even as he stood there, even as he refused to touch the dance floor. There was the weird way Harry responded to his news about Liam and then there was Harry intoxicated and weaving his way to the bathroom. The second Louis saw him walk crooked, he couldn’t look away. Harry is a bit of a control freak and getting drunk enough to stumble has never been his M.O. Then there was the guy lurking outside the bathroom which made Louis’s lip curl. He’d told himself to leave it alone, to let Harry handle himself the way he has been for the last nine months now. But the second the guy looped his finger in Harry’s pants, Louis lost it. He saw red and fireworks and couldn’t stop himself from crossing the floor, from intervening. 

The cost of that split second decision is what he refuses to think about now. If pulling Harry away just undid all the work they’ve done to be friends, to work away the angry edges of their hearts into smoother contours. His breath comes up short at the thought of losing Harry again - as if Harry is even his to lose. They have nothing, they are nothing. They both made that very clear tonight. 

“Louis.”

His name cuts through the night and he pauses, turning slowly. He squints toward the other end of the street though he knows without the shadow of a doubt who is calling his name. 

“Wait for me.” 

Harry is walking quickly and covering quick ground, his jacket halfway on. His wish is Louis’s command - as it always will be - so he pauses and waits for Harry to catch up. It’s probably not wise to stop, the bursting anger from inside still just under his skin. They don’t need to get in a yelling match in the middle of downtown. Though it would certainly get the point across that they are no longer together without Louis having to say another word. 

Before he can change his mind and keep walking, though, Harry is next to him. He’s slightly out of breath from his speed walking but otherwise okay, his mouth red against his pale skin. “Thanks,” he says quietly. He finishes putting his coat on and Louis watches him steadily. "I'm sorry," he says just as quietly. "I don't know what that was back there."

Louis nods, still emotionally exhausted from the night. He doesn't really want to talk about it. “It's fine. I’m heading home anyway,” he says. Harry doesn't say a word and it's too cold to wait so Louis turns on his heel and starts walking along the path he’d started. He’s not sure whether he’s surprised or not when he hears Harry’s boots on the pavement as he matches each step. 

It feels a bit like finding a stray dog, Louis decides as they walk. Albeit, a dog who is drunk and trying to hide it. Harry keeps stumbling though not enough to fall; more like the toe of his shoe catches on something no one else can see. There’s also the way he stays deadly quiet like if he talks, all of his secrets will be revealed. Harry can’t even stay silent in a movie theater, so the effort going into this attempt tells Louis all he needs to know about his level of intoxication. It feels like a bit of a sour note - the way this night seems to be going. It should have been fun, a chance to let loose all of the stress and gloom hanging over them these past couple of weeks. Instead it’s ended in silence and with Niall left behind.  “Shit,” Louis says out loud as the thought settles. “Niall,” he adds when Harry looks over at him. 

“Never leave a man behind,” Harry says on a gasp. He’s not trying to be funny but Louis still snorts into a small laugh. 

“I’ll call him.” They pause on the corner and Louis calls though he’s more distracted by Harry taking a seat on the bench on the sidewalk, his head dropped back on his neck as he stares up at the sky. 

“You fuckers left me,” is how Niall answers the phone. There’s loud music and people - the club life still continuing without them. 

“We did,” Louis says, smiling. “But not entirely on purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before,” he says.

Louis closes his eyes for a moment. Yeah, Niall has. They used to sneak out to make out in their own apartment or, later on, sneak out to go get ice cream and go to bed. This night is so far from all of those. “Do you want us to come back for you?” 

“No, I’m having a ball,” Niall says like it’s obvious. “More fun now that you’re gone, honestly.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. Hey,” he says right before Louis pulls the phone from his ear, “Do me a favor and be nice to each other, yeah? You’ve been assholes for too long, it’s boring.”

Louis pauses in a moment of shock and then laughs before finally saying goodbye and hanging up. His laughter seems loud in the silence of the ended call and he bites his lip as he slips the phone in his pocket. Harry hasn’t moved, the streetlight dancing along his profile, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes close. 

“Everything okay?” Harry asks. 

Louis jumps a little at his voice, deep and so syrupy. “Yeah, fine. He says he’s having more fun now that we’re gone.”

“Jerk.”

“I know.” Louis shoves his hands in his pockets, wondering what to say next. He could sit next to Harry on the bench but it’s honestly too fucking cold.

“Hey Lou,” Harry says, catching Louis off guard again.

“What’s up?”

Harry opens his eyes but doesn’t look over, keeps his eyes on the dark sky. “Is this what you thought your life was going to be like?”

For some reason the question pierces Louis’s heart straight through. He’s tried not to think of it in such grand terms but the honest answer is right there under the surface. He used to picture his life with Harry, _everything_ tied to Harry. Now he’s a ship with no anchor, and a blurry path forward. “Not really, H,” he says quietly. “Not really.”

Harry moves his head so he can turn to look at Louis. Even in the streetlight, Louis can see the liquidity of his gaze, the way he has to swallow tears. “Yeah, me neither.”

Louis can’t deal with this right now, can’t handle his heart feeling like it’s peeling away in pieces as he holds eye contact with Harry. He knows if Harry was sober at all, he’d feel the same way, wouldn’t want to be doing this right now. So he says the one thing he can handle in the moment, saves them both from a morning after upheaval tomorrow: “Should we stop for tacos?”

Harry misses just one beat where he looks at Louis like he has something to say and then he sniffles and laughs, his face cracking away from such sadness. “Yeah, we should.”

The taco truck they used to go to, everyone used to go to, is only a few blocks away. They’ve ended their night before nine p.m. and the taco truck doesn’t usually start to pick up until nearly eleven so there’s hardly a line. There are picnic tables set up under a canopy with heaters and Louis gets Harry to sit down while he gets their tacos. Each taco plate has three different tacos and Harry always gets his with spicy salsa while Louis goes for medium. Like so many things recently, ordering their usual taco order feels like an odd knife to the chest. 

Back at the table, Harry has gotten them glasses of water. Harry chugs his like he is in a competition, getting up to get more the moment Louis sits down like a teeter totter. Louis knows this part of the night well - the moment Harry realizes he’s drunk and no longer wants to be. Harry is a firm believer in drinking water to sobriety though he scientifically knows that’s not how it works. If anything, it helps with future hangovers, Louis will give him that. Louis’s own drunkenness has already dissipated most of the way, just a slight buzz now as they eat their tacos. Harry is a bit messy as he eats, the inside of the taco spilling on to his plate. He eats it with his fingers and Louis pretends not to see. They don’t really talk but it feels like a happier ending to the night than what could have been, so Louis will take it. 

After, Louis says he’s going to head home and Harry nods, getting up with him. “I’ll walk with you,” Harry says, his long legs getting caught on the other chairs as he tries to weave his way back to the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” Louis says though he feels more like he’s the one walking Harry, trying not to let him wander off toward Niall’s and end up in a forested area because he started looking at the stars instead of the sidewalk.

“There’s just not that many stars in Chicago,” Harry says when Louis calls him out for almost running into a telephone pole because he’s looking at the sky. “I took it for granted.”

“Okay,” Louis says, gently steering him toward the middle of the sidewalk. “But if you end up with a concussion, you’ll be seeing a different set of stars.”

Harry scoffs, “I’m a nurse, you know.”

“And yet that doesn’t mean you’re not breakable,” Louis says lightly.

Harry looks at him with heavy eyes, “Tell me about it.”

Louis smiles and then keeps walking, one eye on Harry to make sure he doesn’t run into anything. Being drunk will certainly not be his downfall, but being preoccupied just might be. 

They come in the parking lot side of Louis’s apartment and Louis keeps waiting for Harry to pause to call an Uber but he just keeps following along like the lost puppy again. In the elevator, Louis has to ask, confusion running deep. “Were you planning to go back to Niall’s house?”

Harry’s cheeks are pink from the transition from cold to warm and Louis swears they go a touch darker now. “Niall has the only key. I didn’t grab one.”

“And you don’t want to stay out until Niall decides to call it a night?” Louis supplies. 

Harry smiles, sheepish. “Kind of tired, actually.”

The elevator dings once to announce their arrival on the correct floor. “Alright,” Louis says. “You can stay at mine.”

“Thanks,” Harry says though Louis doubts he was waiting for an official invite.

The apartment is cold when they walk in, the heat turned off since this morning when Louis went to work. He clicks it on as they both take their shoes off by the door, coats staying on for the moment. “I think I have blankets for the couch,” Louis says, heading to the bathroom closet to see what extras he can find. He doesn’t have many over night guests in this new life - only one stray sister over the summer who slept on the couch with just a throw blanket. He finds a heavy comforter and a two fleece blankets - easier having just moved in than if they were buried. 

He comes back to the living room to find Harry fully dressed with his hood up, laying on the couch. “You’re so dumb,” he says when Harry looks over, a silly smile on his face. “And you can’t sleep in jeans,” he adds as he turns to his dresser. “I’m sure I have pants for you.”

“Should I just get some out of that box of my old stuff in the corner?”

The room temperature somehow gets colder, days pass and seasons change before Louis can turn back to Harry. His ears are ringing as he realizes the implications of what Harry is saying. “You looked in that box?” There’s no point in dancing around the question, pretending he doesn’t know. 

Harry, for his part, looks mortified at the words that have left his mouth. “No. I mean, yes. Not tonight. But, yes. Um, when you were first moving.”

Louis nods once, his jaw pulsing. 

“I just saw it was my stuff I’d left here,” he says, his eyes moving away from Louis’s all together. 

Louis reminds himself the ring was hidden in the middle of everything else; there’s no way Harry saw it. For all the secrets and demons they’ve shared with each other, he’s not quite ready to raise the curtain on that one yet.  “Right,” Louis says tersely. “Well.” He turns and heads for the dresser, “I don’t think there were any pajamas in there anyway.” What he doesn’t say, but which Harry must realize as well, is that Harry typically slept in some form of undress while they were together - wearing a pair of boxers was sometimes overdressed.  Louis resolutely does not let his mind run rampant as he pulls out a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old library t-shirt that was a little too big on him. It’s odd how closely his and Harry’s clothes fit on each other but Harry’s long torso has always made Louis’s shirt something slightly closer to a crop instead. Louis used to say it was because he was better proportioned than Harry.  “Here,” he says, tossing the pajamas to where Harry is still laying on the couch like a dead body. “Put these on.”

Harry rolls off the couch and starts putting on the pajamas like Louis has asked and Louis grabs his own pair and heads to the bathroom before he gets caught watching. He washes his face at the sink and presses the towel hard to his eyes. He has no idea why he’s invited Harry for a sleepover of all things, and why it’s effecting him this much. He spent a week holed up with Harry at Niall’s place - this isn’t so different. 

A knock on the bathroom door makes him nearly jump out of his skin and he takes a deep breath before he turns to open it. 

“Did I scare you?” Harry sounds surprisingly more sober than earlier, his voice still syrupy but not as slow.

“A bit,” Louis admits. He opens the door wider, “Here, come on in. I’m almost done.”  He grabs a spare hand towel from the cabinet and sets it on the sink then a toothbrush from the pack of fresh ones he keeps for emergencies. He picks a pink one for Harry without thinking about it and realizes after he’s set it on the counter, it’s just like the one Harry used to have.

“Like a hotel,” Harry murmurs.

Louis rolls his eyes. He puts toothpaste on his own brush and then squeezes some onto Harry’s when he holds it out to him. Then they stand hip to hip at the single sink as they brush their teeth, both of them avoiding looking in the mirror. Brushing their teeth feels more intimate than anything up to now and Louis can’t ignore the restless feeling in his feet, the winged animals in his stomach. He spits and when he looks back up, Harry is watching him in the mirror, his gaze heavy for reasons Louis can’t place.  “What?” He asks around a mouthful of foam.

“Nothing,” Harry says, averting his eyes. 

Louis finishes brushing quickly, eager to leave Harry to the rest of his bathroom duties on his own. While Harry finishes, Louis fixes the couch for him. He lays a fleece blanket along the length of it and throws the back cushions over the edge to make it a bit wider. He lays the other two blankets over the top and adjusts the pillows, feeling a lot like the help at a hotel. He takes a step back to inspect his work and is slammed with the memory of Christmas night, Harry falling off the couch and hitting his head on the edge of the table.  “Hey Harry,” he calls toward the bathroom before the memory can fade, “You can take the bed.”

Harry pops out of the bathroom with foaming cleanser covering his skin - definitely stolen from Louis’s cabinet. “What? Why?”

Louis shrugs, “You’re the guest.” Harry disappears back in the bathroom and Louis hears the sink turn on. He’s not a very good liar and he’s sure Harry is going to call him on it.

Harry comes out of the bathroom smoothing Louis’s moisturizer onto his skin and shakes his head. “No. You’re letting me stay here, I’ll take the couch.”  Louis wants to argue but he’s not sure how so he does the only thing he can; he tugs the coffee table further from the couch and closer to the TV. Harry watches the movement steadily, confusion in his eyes, then he sighs. “I’m not going to fall off the couch.”

Louis doesn’t want to have to explain how scary it was to see Harry controlled by his own nightmare, helpless as he fell to the ground. “I feel better about it because it's moved, okay? Do it for me.”

Harry looks like he’s going to argue but then nods. “Fine. Do you want a glass of water?”

This is some fucked up version of their old bed time routine and it itches under Louis’s ribs like a rash. “Please,” he says.  He circles the couch the opposite way of Harry and turns off the light in the bathroom. He clears a path between the couch and the bathroom if Harry needs it and pulls down the covers on his bed. On instinct, he opens the top drawer of his dresser for a pair of wool socks. Harry is standing there as he turns, two glasses in hand.

“Water,” he says, rather lamely if Louis says so himself. 

“Thanks.” Louis takes the glass and hands him socks, an odd trade off in this new version of life. “Socks,” he says. 

“You remember.”

Louis wants to scream. He wants to yell and throw the glass of water he’s holding, wants to rip his heart out and lay it out on the ground. Yes, he remembers how Harry wears socks to bed even in the middle of the fucking summer. Of course he remembers, of course he does. It’s why he hid the engagement ring in a pair of socks, it’s why he held his breath every fucking night wondering if it would be the night Harry found it. Of course he remembers, of course. Of course. 

“Can’t forget, actually,” Louis says quietly. He can’t meet Harry’s eyes so he doesn’t. He turns to put his water on his nightstand and stares at the wall until he hears Harry’s feet retreating back to the couch. 

Louis gets under the covers and switches off the lamp next to his bed. He’s hyperaware of all the sounds he makes as he adjusts, the movements of the sheets. He hears as Harry adjusts, can perfectly picture him pulling the blankets up over his shoulder, turning on his side and moving his legs so his knees and ankles don’t touch. The things Louis knows about him, down to the way he sleeps, seem like the kind of things he’ll never forget.  He can’t imagine ever learning these things about someone else, taking the time to care. He’ll never care for anyone as much as he cares for Harry. It hits him like an absolute punch in the gut. For the first time, he doesn’t change the tense to past. The truth stares at him there in the dark. He still cares about Harry; he never fucking stopped. 

“Louis?”

As if his thoughts have been broadcast, Louis’s heart jumps in his chest, his body going perfectly still. “Yeah?”

He hears Harry move around on the couch slightly. “Goodnight.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut to avoid his emotions overtaking him. “Goodnight, H.” It comes out quieter than he means and he’s not sure if Harry hears. All he knows is he lays awake for hours after that, eyes fixed on the window, mind churning over the question he can’t answer: why did this happen to us?

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry isn’t sure when he falls asleep. The last thing he remembers is staring at the ceiling of Louis’s apartment and praying for his nightmares to stay away. Waking up screaming at someone else’s house hardly seems like something he would want to participate in. The weight of his thoughts must have pressed him into a deep sleep because when he opens his eyes, it’s daylight. Besides the daylight and the fact he’s on Louis’s couch, he also registers his complete lack of a hangover. Pounding water like a fish worked in his favor for once. He reaches for his phone on the coffee table and nearly face plants off the couch because of how far away Louis scooted the table last night.

He sits up to save himself and glances toward Louis’s bed, finds his back to Harry, his shoulders rising with each breath. It’s a familiar enough scene but it stops Harry for a moment. As all things, when you don’t see them everyday anymore, you forget how simple and peaceful they once were; how perfect.  _They_ were never perfect, their relationship was never perfect but Harry knows the way he loved Louis couldn’t have been matched by any other human. He loved him like a hurricane with no walls, a flood with no ending. To simply adore the way someone breathes when they sleep is no small feat or easy venture. But they had it. They had it all. 

Harry runs his hand through his hair and feels his chest tighten with pent up emotion. Even when he ran, even when he was angry; he never stopped loving Louis and he feels that now like an ocean responds to the moon. He never stopped and he may never stop. The realization feels like one that has been lingering, no sudden wave this time. Quiet acknowledgement of suffering in silence. He swallows hard and pulls himself from the couch. 

Louis has always been a hard sleeper but Harry tries to be quiet as he goes to the bathroom, closing the door quietly and barely running the water as he washes his hands and brushes his teeth - which takes him twice as long.His mistake comes when he leaves the bathroom. In a way he can’t help, his eyes stray to Louis again, which means he absolutely does not see the dresser as he slams the space between his two smallest toes right on the edge. 

“Motherfucker,” hardly comes out as a whisper as he windmills forward, tripping over a stray pair of shoes and landing on the corner of Louis’s bed. His toe hurts worse than being hit by a car, he thinks, but he still notices Louis scrambling to wakefulness, sitting up quickly. 

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”  His voice is so sleepy and quiet but there’s urgency that makes Harry feel foolish. 

“Stubbed my toe,” he says through a tight jaw as the pain starts to slowly recede. “Then tripped over your shoes.”

“Oh my god,” Louis breathes, his hands covering his face. “I thought you were fucking dying.”

“Feels like it,” Harry says mournfully.

Louis slips out of the covers and crawls to the edge of the bed where he inspects Harry’s foot. Harry is less interested in the inspection than the fact Louis is only in pair of flannel pants, his shirt lost somewhere else in the night. 

“I think you’ll live,” he says. He sits back on his heels, his hands braced on the bed. 

“Remember when I said you shouldn’t put the dresser there? Because someone could stub their toe?”

Louis smirks, “I had no idea you meant yourself.”

Harry smiles, meets Louis’s eyes and is quickly taken back by the blue he knows so well - the color of the ocean when it rains. He finds himself folding as he sits there, his heart and stomach simply folding in half. Louis is softest in the morning and Harry has missed it all these months, the quiet smiles and half-broken voice. The way his hair is somehow artfully mussed. Harry’s missed it all, and missed it so impossibly much.  “Me neither,” he says quietly.  Louis swallows like he can feel the electric charge in Harry’s eyes.

Harry should get up and create some space, move to the couch instead of noticing the distinct lack of space between his hand and Louis’s knee, the way if he tilted his head up just slightly, he’d be just inches away from Louis’s chin. 

“What?” Louis asks. He licks hit bottom lip and Harry knows he feels it too, the unavoidable magnetism growing between them. 

“Last night,” Harry says, the thought sudden and abrupt, “When you said you still cared about me?” He can nearly shiver at the memory of the way Louis said it in the club, the way his breath touched Harry’s ear. 

“Yeah?” Louis breathes the word but doesn’t deny it.

“Did you mean it?”

Universes collapse and cities are built in the pause that lingers. Their eyes hold but no one breathes, Harry blinks first and thinks he’s read this all wrong - made a fool of himself again. But when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t find Louis turning his back, instead he finds him leaning in, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks as he pulls closer. Harry notices a new freckle on his cheek but it’s the last thing he sees as Louis makes the space between their mouths disappear and then they’re kissing. 

The first brush of their lips is so gentle it hardly counts as a kiss at all but Harry leans in anyway. Louis pulls back from his lean, eyes blinking softly as Harry meets them. There’s no questions here or lingering ghosts, there’s just the man he used to love looking at him with eyes he still has dreams about. “Louis,” he breathes and it’s the answer to no one’s question but Louis leans in and kisses him again. 

It’s the easiest press followed by something deeper as Louis’s hand finds Harry’s jaw, running his thumb along the edge and opening Harry’s mouth to him. It’s fireworks and pop rocks as Harry tips his head back, easy under Louis’s control.  He feels helpless with his hands in his lap as Louis kisses him but the angle is too awkward to do anything but let Louis press his tongue between his lips. Louis bites his lip in the next moment and Harry gasps, quiet and right into Louis’s mouth. The sound breaks a spell as Louis pulls back slightly and Harry leans again, slipping toward the edge of desperate for another taste. 

“Come up here,” Louis says, “Before I break my knees.”

Harry is too nervous to smile but he pulls his legs up on the bed all the same, presses himself up closer to the pillows. Louis hardly waits for him to get settled before he’s following after him, knees on either side of his hips as they kiss again.  The way Louis kisses, he presses Harry into the pillow and makes it feel like there’s no escape, nowhere to go except to kiss harder, relinquish to the pressure of Louis’s tongue. It’s a nirvana that only lives in his dreams, it’s hard to remember this is his real life, this is happening now. 

He moves his hands up to Louis’s hips, the curve from his stomach to his ribs. Endless skin, smooth and easy. His fingers fit in the slots of Louis’s ribs and each breath comes like a rush. He has a moment to catch his breath as Louis’s lips run along his jaw and then down his throat, teasing bites against his skin to make his lower back curl, another punched out sound release from his throat.

“Oh my god,” he breathes as Louis’s hands slip up under his shirt, along his stomach. His thumbs brush Harry's nipples and he groans, his mind a rainbow of shattered glass. He hasn’t been touched by another person in so long but it isn’t just touch deprivation; it’s Louis being the one to do it. The only one who knows exactly how to touch him, how to break him and put him back together again. 

Harry’s eyes roll, and his fingers dig into Louis’s back as Louis digs the edge of his thumbnails into Harry’s chest and bites on the soft edge of Harry’s jaw. He’s a puppet to be manipulated and Louis knows just how to do it.  “Fuck,” he says when Louis pulls back, something devilish in his eyes. He smirks and Harry feels everything slipping, all of his months of pretending he was ever getting over the man he’s now under.

He takes the moment of pause as a weakness and curves himself up to press Louis back, folding him on to the bed as they trade places. Harry has to laugh at the surprise in Louis’s face and then he has to kiss him, soft and then harder like the start to any romantic dance. Louis lets himself be kissed in a willful way, his hands settling low on Harry’s back as he let’s Harry have his time. If he wanted to, he could flip Harry in a heartbeat but this used to be where the fun was - Harry hasn’t forgotten after all this time. Louis works Harry’s shirt up as they kiss and they separate as it comes up over Harry’s head but then their lips touch again. 

“Want it,” Harry starts but can’t finish a sentence, his mind fizzing. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis whispers against his mouth like this is a coherent conversation. 

Harry takes it like instructions and starts to move down Louis’s neck, dragging his tongue in a broad stripe to taste the salt on his skin. It’s unbearably familiar down to Louis’s pulse under his tongue as he curves his neck back. Once he starts, Harry can’t stop - re-familiarizing his tongue with the contours of Louis’s skin. He moves down his chest and to the plains of his stomach, the curve of his hip. Louis twists one hand in Harry’s hair and tugs as Harry runs his lips along the top edge of his pajama bottoms. The tug sends fire through Harry’s veins and he has to press his hips to the bed to quell the flames ready to burn him alive. 

He needs to press the fire somewhere else besides his stomach so he curls his fingers into Louis’s pajamas and tugs. They come down a couple inches and Harry’s mouth waters like a Pavlovian response. He swallows and glances up, meets Louis’s eyes and then waits for him to nod and lift his hips as he tugs the pants the rest of the way. His hand draws to Louis’s cock first but his lips find his thigh, the soft skin there. A simple kiss sends Louis’s back into a curve and _this_ is what Harry has missed most. Being the only one to know how to make Louis fall apart, the only one to take the time to learn, memorize, practice. He kisses his other thigh quickly and then takes Louis into his mouth, his own quiet moan drowned by the ripped up sound coming from Louis’s lungs. 

Louis is a symphony and a song as Harry sucks him, each sound punched out and then prolonged, some hidden behind his fist when Harry chances a glance up. Each sound fades into the next as Harry falls into a foreign but familiar rhythm, opening his throat and tightening his lips, moving his hand to press just between Louis’s thighs, the soft spot to make his leg kick out to the side. Harry revels in it - the sounds, the lift of Louis’s hips, Louis’s fingers in his hair. This was never the whole story, but the press and pull was so much apart of them, the magic in quiet rooms and between sheets. 

Harry uses his hand to add pressure and tightens his mouth as Louis curses. “Fuck, H, it’s been so long, fuck.” Harry hums and Louis’s hand tightens in his hair. He has to try not to smile.  He pulls back slowly, revels in the satisfaction of Louis’s hips lifting to chase his mouth. 

“Come in my mouth,” he says, “Please.” Louis groans at _please_ and Harry goes back to work, closing his eyes and losing himself for a moment he never thought he’d get again.  When Louis comes, Harry feels it first in the pull of his hair from Louis’s hand and then his toes as they point and brush Harry’s calves, then his hips as they press up off the bed and drag Harry further along his cock. Then he feels it in his mouth, a twitch and a rush, sweet salvation. 

The moment his body relaxes Harry pulls off slowly, presses his lips to the corner of Louis’s hip softly. He retraces the trail he took the first time up to Louis’s face. Louis’s hand drags back through his hair, down his back, and then rests on Harry’s hip as they kiss, tongues pressing in a quiet dance. Harry doesn’t have words here - no witty quip or quiet memory. He only focuses on the way Louis’s lips feel under his, the heat radiating from Louis’s body. Slowly, like a routine he’s been planning, Louis rolls and Harry falls back, their lips never parting. 

Harry is hard and wanting, his entire body pulled tight as he waits for what comes next. They shouldn’t be doing this at all but his body hasn’t gotten the memo, touch starved and relishing in the memory of all the ways Louis used to love him.  Maybe Louis can tell, or maybe just feel the desperation thrumming in his veins. He kisses along his neck and draws his fingers up Harry’s sides, raising goosebumps on his skin. His hands repeat the motion but this time his fingers go further, grip under Harry’s thigh and draws his leg up around his waist. 

“Shit,” Harry curses as Louis grinds down against him, his cock slotting in the crease of Louis’s thigh, warm and firm. The press is a strange kind of sweet through his flannel pajamas. 

Louis kisses his shoulder and then pauses, their eyes meeting. It’s absolutely quiet except for their breath and all the questions running through Harry’s head, the doubts and demons. Maybe this is when the other foot drops, when Louis stops whatever this is and sends Harry packing. None of this should be happening and Harry realizes that even as he feels each and every intimate curve of Louis’s body where it’s pressed to him.

“You okay?” Louis’s voice is so quiet but it fits here. It’s a familiar tone like so many other things in this bed. Louis only talks like this in one place and Harry feels it thrum through his blood. Tone aside, the question is an out and Harry can recognize it well enough. He can stop this all here with one word, one look. The truth is, there’s not a single part of his body or his mind that could pull him away now. 

“Yes,” he says as clear as he can. “Yes,” he repeats as he presses his hips up to get the message across. 

Louis smirks and Harry knows he gets it. “Okay,” he says, almost to himself. He kisses Harry again, his tongue teasing as his hand smooths over the back of Harry’s thigh where it’s hinged around his waist. He presses his hips down as his hand curves over Harry’s ass. He moves his hand to the most inner curve, bites Harry’s lip as he presses lightly where Harry’s cheeks meet, the ghost of a suggestion Harry hears loud and clear. 

“Louis,” he breathes, his body hungry for something he hasn’t had in so long. 

“Yeah?” Louis presses firmer and then drags his hand back again. “You want it?”

Desire curls so thick in his stomach he almost can’t breathe. “Yes,” he says hoping the third time is the charm. 

Louis goes with it this time, another kiss to Harry’s mouth and then he’s sliding down his body. He kisses the middle of his neck, the center of his chest, the curve of his hip in a way that is so intimate, desire presses at Harry’s ribs in another rush. Louis’s thumbs are in the waistband of the pajama pants for a mere moment before they slide. Harry lifts his hips to help, swallowing as he’s suddenly naked and on his back in Louis’s bed. All the things he never thought would happen again and yet here he is. 

Louis’s eyes move over his body in a heated gaze Harry can feel, slow and methodical as he rolls his lip under his teeth. Despite the time that has passed, it’s still electric in Harry’s chest, his lungs trying to keep up with his heart. L ouis drops Harry’s borrowed pajamas over the edge of the bed and flattens to his stomach between Harry’s legs and Harry closes his eyes like he’s losing a battle. He keeps them shut as he feels Louis’s fingers circling his ankle, pressing his heel toward his thigh as his knee bends, opening his legs so Louis can pull closer. Anticipation builds as Louis drags the rough edge of his jaw against his thighs, his breath against his balls as he lifts Harry’s hips up just slightly. Then like a star bursts into a million pieces, Harry arches at the very first press of Louis’s tongue against him. 

“Easy,” Louis murmurs but Harry barely hears, the promise and the tease igniting his body as his back bows. “You’re fine,” Louis says quietly and then he licks again, the broad trace of his tongue against where Harry is most sensitive. There’s something sacred still about Louis doing this, as lewd of an act as this may be. Harry has never let anyone do this to him but Louis, not even before they met. This is one man’s ground and he clearly still knows it well as Louis grips his hips and swirls his tongue in the most divine way. 

Harry loses himself in the quiet nirvana, his stomach twisting and tightening with each move Louis makes, each rough exhale as he changes his position and pace. Louis is relentless and, in turn, messy as he drives Harry higher into another state of bliss. When he pulls back and blows cool air on Harry’s skin it makes him twist, his legs flailing as his nervous system ignites. Louis laughs lightly as he bites gently on the curve of Harry’s thigh. 

“Turn over for me,” he says even as Harry is already halfway there, his body unsure how to react to an assault on the sexual and chemical strands of his body. He feels like he’s floating as he moves to his stomach, Louis guiding him gently.“There you go,” Louis says with a kiss to Harry’s lower back. He kisses his spine and then his shoulder and Harry lifts his head for a brief kiss on the lips. “All okay?” Louis asks, soft even when he tastes like Harry. 

“Very,” Harry says. To take the emotions, questions and confusion out - this is the easiest decision he’s ever made. “Very.” He watches as Louis reaches in his drawer for a bottle of lube, Harry’s heart skipping a half beat. Even with the emotions and questions gone, there’s still room for memories and ghosts. Those are unavoidable, it seems. 

Louis dances his fingertips over Harry’s back as he slips back down the bed and then has him come up on his knees. Harry’s upper body stays flat to the bed, his teeth biting into one of Louis’s pillows as Louis spreads him open again and goes back to work.  Like this, there’s no barrier to access or angle to twist; there’s just Louis’s tongue splitting him and his hands holding firmly to his hips. Harry finds himself turning into a mess himself, drool slipping over his lips as guttural sounds press from his mouth. 

“Let me hear you baby,” Louis says between one breath and Harry’s eyes roll back.

He is a slave to sounds; the bed springs groaning under his knees, his cheek dragging on the the pillow that smells like Louis, the low hum Louis presses into his skin to drive him wild. He hears when Louis opens the lube, the quiet shush as he squeezes some on to his finger. He hears himself hiss as the cool press as Louis rubs it over his hole, smears it along with his saliva. Then he hears himself gasp and moan as Louis presses one finger inside him and then two. 

Free from Louis holding his hips, Harry falls to the bed and Louis is quick to follow, relentless. He fucks him with his fingers pressing like heat seeking missiles until he finds his target and Harry grasps the bed with clawed hands as his soul starts to shake, as every muscle in his body tenses.  “Louis,” he grits between clenched teeth. His body is being played like an instrument he doesn’t own and it feels like he’s watching from above. 

“Feels good, huh?” Louis asks, still with the quiet voice. “Been so long since I’ve had you like this.”  Harry starts to press his hips into the bed, begging for friction on his cock. His mouth drops open as Louis moves his fingers faster as he tries to move his hips to keep up.  “Lift up, sweetheart,” Louis says with a tap of his fingers at his hip, “You can have my hand.”

It takes more strength than Harry knows he needs to move his hips up and his knees in. The sweet salvation is Louis’s hand wrapping around him, slick with the saliva and lube he feels covered in.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as Louis takes control over his body in every way, his fingers and hand working in a mesmerizing succession. 

“Almost there,” he says, “So good for me, H.”

Harry is about to lose it; the fire in his stomach tightening into a ball he can’t contain, his stomach curving in, his heart pounding. All at once every rope tightens in unbelievable anticipation and then releases in a pleasure that makes his vision go white as his body jerks and clenches, pulls Louis in even tighter as he comes. He feels it slick on his stomach just as he feels the mess of spit, sweat and lube Louis has made on the back of his balls. 

The release lingers as he collapses to his stomach, waves rolling off his body. He feels rather than sees Louis’s knees come up near his thighs and then the unmistakeable click of Louis pulling himself off. Harry can’t do much like this but he reaches one hand back. He means to rest it on Louis’s knee but finds Louis’s fingers twisting with his in a tight grip he didn’t expect. The surprise can’t settle because Louis groans low in his throat as he comes a second time, all over Harry’s ass and up his back. It’s the primal marking of another age and it does nothing to settle the fire in Harry’s belly. 

Louis leans forward to kiss him without moving, their lazy tongues dancing together as they try to catch their breath. Maybe Harry is out of practice but he doesn’t remember sex being like this, having his mind blown so thoroughly prior to eight a.m. 

“Stay here,” Louis says, a kiss brushed to his forehead. “I’ll get a towel.”

Orgasms make the world go round but Harry finds indelible pleasure in the act of Louis cleaning him up once he comes back. The care in his movements, the kisses pressed to clean skin. All at once Harry finds his eyes tearing and closes them before Louis can notice. After the way he left Louis, the way he broke their lives, surely he doesn’t deserve this. 

“Sleepy?” Louis murmurs once he finishes wiping them clean, making Harry roll to his back to get his stomach. 

Harry nods, too scared to open his eyes and let a stray tear fall. Sex makes him emotional always but this can’t happen now - you don’t get to cry after your ex turns you inside out and rocks your world. It’s not the way it works. 

“Me too,” Lous says quietly. He kisses Harry’s eye lid and then the corner like he knows what’s underneath.  He moves away and Harry opens his eyes slowly, willing himself to stay in control. He admires the way Louis’s back moves as he pulls the blankets up over them, the apartment colder now as their bodies cool.

“Think I drooled on your pillow,” Harry says; the first words he’s said since they stopped he realizes belatedly.

“Gross,” Louis says. Though with the things that have just happened, Harry can hardly take him seriously. “You’re sleeping on that one.”

Harry laughs as he adjusts, pulling the covers up over his shoulder. Louis lays on his back, Harry on his side, silence settling over them.  The pieces of their physical chemistry all seem in check but this part seems cold and distant in a way Harry can’t bare. “Louis,” he says to the far wall, unable to look over his shoulder at the only man who has ever possessed his body and soul all at once. 

“Yeah?”

Harry takes a deep breath, fills his lungs. “Will you hold me?” He’s never had to ask but he wants it like a drug right now, needs one last hit of whatever this is. 

Louis doesn’t say a word and Harry is too scared to see what expression is on his face. All he knows is Louis curves a hand over his hip to his stomach and pulls Harry back to his chest, their legs slotting together. It’s the place Harry used to love to be and he closes his eyes like this a dream he can control. He sighs as he starts to drift, swears he feels Louis’s lips on his shoulder blade just before he falls. 


	9. Chapter 9

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis wakes for a second time the same morning on his stomach, the covers of his bed tucked over his shoulders in an eerily familiar way. He opens his eyes slowly to find the other half of the bed empty. He lays perfectly still as he listens to the sounds in his apartment for signs of Harry but there are none. Only the usuals: someone walking on the floor above him, the low hum of the heater. He can’t say it’s what he expected to find but somehow it fits to find Harry already gone. 

He rolls to his back and the sheets tangle around him. He doesn’t regret it; not one single moment of their morning. To have Harry under him, to taste him, to make him come - he never thought he’d have any of that again. It was just as good as he remembers, maybe better because distance and time really do a number on what pleasure reverberates through his body.  He tried to turn his mind off as he brought Harry to pieces but there were some things he couldn’t ignore - the way Harry used to love when he’d talk to him in bed, how sensitive his inner thighs are, the sounds he makes and how Louis knows to pull them from him. He's an expert in the language of Harry Styles and it’s burned in his memory. 

Now as he lays here alone, he can’t remember who made the first move, how they ended up rolling around in his sheets. It doesn’t matter, he knows. They were both equal participants, both need to deal with the aftermath now. On some level, Louis knew the bubble would pop afterwards, Harry would come to his senses. He thought it would be once they were cleaned up and tucked under the covers but then Harry had asked Louis to come closer. Sometime after that, then. Harry woke up and realized where he was, snuck out without a single word. Louis wishes he could turn his mind off now, the ache of getting a taste of everything he’s missed and then to be left with nothing. Again. 

His phone vibrates on his nightstand pulls him away from staring at the ceiling. He reaches for it and then pauses when he sees Harry’s name on the screen. He stares until the ringing stops and the screen goes dark. He’s not equipped for a conversation right now - either apologies for pushing too far or acting like nothing happened. He’ll get there - not yet. 

There's barely a pause and then the phone rings again and he resigns himself to answering. Harry is nothing if not incredibly persistent. He could have used some of that persistence before he up and left for Chicago, Louis thinks bitterly.  “Hello?” Louis answers, closing his eyes as he does.

“Can you let me in?” 

It’s not at all what Louis expects to hear and he sits up on instinct of surprise. “What? Where are you?”

“Outside the lobby,” Harry says. His teeth chatter for a moment. “Didn’t grab your key.”

“I’ll be down,” Louis says which is easier than asking why Harry even left in the first place, why he’s now trying to come back.  He pulls on the pajama pants Harry had been wearing and a sweatshirt from the floor, shoves his feet in a pair of slides and heads for the elevator. He’s careful to grab his key from the hook so they both don’t end up stuck outside. 

Sure enough, Harry is right where he says he is: standing outside and huddled as close to the building as possible. He smiles when he sees Louis but his lips are slightly blue and it makes Louis walk just a bit faster.  “What are you doing?” Louis asks as he opens the door but he sees the answer quickly. There’s a bag from the bakery clutched in Harry’s hand, a cup of coffee in the crook of his elbow. 

“I was hungry,” Harry says, stepping inside even as Louis takes the bag and coffee from his hands. “That coffee is yours by the way, I drank mine when I thought I was going to freeze to death out there.”

Louis blinks at him, brain processing slowly. “How long were you standing there?”

Harry looks away and Louis raises his eyebrows. “I, uh, thought someone else might come in and then I would just sneak in with them. But no one came. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs as they walk back to the elevator. “You should have just called.”

Harry nods, “Yeah, I get that more now that I can’t feel my toes.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he drops his eyes to where Harry is wearing a pair of his Vans with no socks. His gaze catches on the track pants that are just slightly too short in the ankle and the hoodie that says Eugene Public Library on the chest. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

Harry blinks at him. “Yes.” The elevator doors slide open and they walk in. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Louis says. Even though his mind is tilting at the visual, at the closeness. He’ll have to get rid of the clothes when Harry leaves again, that’s all. A shame because he’s always liked that sweatshirt. 

“I bought cinnamon rolls,” Harry offers when they fall silent. 

“Thank you for risking your life for carbs,” Louis says, smirking. “You’re a hero.”

In the apartment it’s quiet again as Harry puts the cinnamon rolls on plates and hums to himself. The coffee, having gone through a winter walk, is actually the perfect temperature and just what Louis needs. So is the cinnamon roll, it turns out. Athletic sexual adventures make him hungrier for breakfast than he’s been in awhile. 

“Looks like it’s going to rain today,” Harry says as he chews his first bite. “Then maybe snow overnight.” 

“Did you also check the weather while being trapped outside?” 

Harry smiles, “Was curious how close to freezing it was out there.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” Harry says it quietly and as he takes another bite. Louis doesn’t like the way he makes it sound like a bad thing when it’s not what Louis meant.  Not that Louis knows what he does mean - clearly they aren’t going to mention what has happened between them, clearly Harry isn’t so scared of it he’s running away. In fact, Louis has no idea what Harry’s thinking other than that he snuck out of bed for a treat but then got cold feet about calling Louis to be let in. Nothing is exactly crystal clear. 

They finish eating and Harry rinses the plates as Louis sips his coffee and observes from the table. The kitchen windows let in cold light and Harry looks perfectly at home in Louis’s clothes, his face still sleep soft as he hums quietly. He finishes drying the plates and Louis hesitates to fill in the silence. He’d love for Harry to give him a fucking clue about what’s going on his head. Maybe he’s waiting for the opportune moment to run back to Niall’s, maybe he’s waiting for Louis to say something.  He comes back to the table and takes his spot again. An impasse of silence and Louis doesn’t want to break first. If he does, it’s going to be a lot of questions he’s scared to know the answers to. 

Harry breaks the silence first: “I’ve been thinking more about what I want to do since we had lunch. Like, professionally.”

It’s not anywhere near what Louis expected to hear eight now but somehow it’s suddenly the only thing he wants to hear. Falling in love with Harry once meant memorizing his hopes and dreams, pushing and hoping for those to come true. Considering he never quite fell out of love with him, those same things apply here. “Yeah?”

Harry nods, “I was thinking of social work. Working with foster kids and families, primarily.”

It’s not what Louis would have come up with as a potential pivot from nursing but it makes sense here, makes sense for Harry. “That seems like it would be a good fit,” he says. He knows Harry is still figuring it out, he doesn’t want to jump right in to automatically agreeing on something that is Harry’s decision alone. They aren’t a team these days. 

Harry nods, draws an invisible picture with his finger on the kitchen table. “I would need to take a few more classes to get certified but it’s actually a relatively smooth transition with my background.” He looks up and meets Louis’s eyes. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know if my opinion matters, H,” he says quietly. It hurts to admit such a stark truth out loud. 

Harry shakes his head slightly, “It matters to me. It always matters to me.”

For a second, Louis nearly breaks. He nearly asks why it didn’t matter in March when Harry left, why he didn’t value Louis’s opinion then. But he bites his tongue. The past can’t be pulled to the surface at every turn. “You were saying a lot of your patients end up involved in accidents or violence circling back to gangs, right?” Louis waits for Harry to nod. “I think there will still be a lot of that as a social worker, you still won’t be able to save everyone. But maybe you reach them before the bad things do, right? You move families out of dangerous neighborhoods or advocate for kids who struggle in school to get more help so they can keep learning and not drop out. You’re no longer the last stop on a violent road, you try to be the first turn towards prevention.”

“That’s what I was thinking too.”

Louis nods, “Good. When do you need to decide?”

“Soon, probably.”

Louis swallows, “Right.” Silence flutters again and he knows he should tell Harry to leave, to start this pulling away process before he gets ripped away suddenly. But there is something else he can’t ignore: the selfish part of him that doesn’t want to give Harry back, to let him go yet. He leans on the selfish side now. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

If Harry is surprised by the question or change in conversation, he doesn’t show. He just nods like this was the plan all along. “I do, yeah.”

They barely take apart Harry’s couch bed from the night before, moving the blankets around and taking opposite corners. Like an old routine, Louis gives Harry the remote to sift through Netflix. Louis never has the patience to find something new and ends up watching something like a John Mulaney special for the three-thousandth time. While still hilarious with every re-watch, he’s pretty sure he can recite the entire set of three of the specials and could probably use some broadened horizons. Harry, of course, settles on a Netflix original with an unrecognizable cast and a questionable synopsis.  “Heard this was good,” he says. 

Louis smiles at the familiar intro to every terrible movie they’ve ever watched together. “Yeah, okay.”

The movie ends up with a better start than Louis expects and he sits up to actually pay attention as rain starts to fall outside. It’s such a serene sound - rain on windows and a movie in the background. He adjusts the blankets around him. Being cozy and comfortable is his favorite form of self care. 

Or, it is until Harry slides to lay down and his feet end up in Louis’s lap. “Excuse me?”

Harry smiles slyly, “I don’t fit.”

“It’s my couch,” Louis points out. 

“Used to be ours,” Harry says. Then like he’s said something forbidden he looks back at the television. They walk through a trail of landmines no matter what they do. Louis sighs as quietly as he can. This is starting to be exhausting. 

Somewhere during the movie, Louis’s hands find Harry’s feet and start massaging lightly. He glances down when he realizes he’s done it and then chances a glance toward Harry but finds his eyes trained diligently on the television. Common sense tells Louis to stop but his brain isn’t really interested in the directive as he keeps going. This used to be almost a nightly occurrence in their old lives, and his hands haven’t forgotten the places Harry used to direct him to: the edges of his arches and the very center of his heels.  He’s not even sure Harry notices he’s doing it until he pauses and Harry wiggles his feet impatiently. This time when he glances over, Harry is looking right at him with a sly smirk. “What?” He asks, his face slipping into a matching smile. It’s a helpless reaction.

“Keep going, please,” Harry says, wiggling his feet again and biting his lip. “Felt good.”

Louis rolls his eyes and slowly starts his massage again with his eyes trained on Harry. Harry smiles and then opens his mouth to say something before closing it again. “Yes?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Do the arches,” Harry whispers even as he’s smiling, his dimple curving in.

Louis laughs, “Bossy.” He does as told though a bit more aggressive than needed, digging his fingers in in a way that makes Harry’s legs flail, sitting up to get Louis’s hands to release him with a squeal. Louis cackles but doesn’t let go and they end up a bit tangled with Louis holding Harry’s feet close to his chest.  When they can’t move any further, they pause. The movie plays but all Louis hears is his breath mixed with Harry’s, their smiles not dimming.

“Let go,” Harry says, his eyes shining.“Or else.”

“Or what?” Louis asks. He raises his eyebrows again. “Hm?”

“Or else,” Harry’s eyes drop to Louis’s mouth then meet his eyes. “Or else I’ll kiss you.”

There are so many ways this next bit can go but for once, Louis picks the only one he wants. He pulls Harry’s feet further so Harry slides up the couch and is forced right up to him. “Okay,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. 

A breath and then their mouths press together as they kiss, Louis’s hands falling slack. It strikes Louis again how even now, after all this time, Harry still tastes the same. His mouth still moves in familiar ways and as Louis bites his lip, Harry makes the same quiet gasp he has memorized. 

Louis leans back slightly and Harry follows, slipping up onto his knees and then into Louis’s lap like this is something they’ve practiced. Louis’s hands start to roam, up his back and down his sides, pressing under the hem of his borrowed sweatshirt as he kisses Harry’s neck. Harry’s head falls back when he does, his hips rolling forward against Louis’s and punching his breath from his lungs. He sucks lightly on the spot by Harry’s ear and is met with the desperate scrambling of Harry’s hands to hold his shoulders, his hips pressing more insistently as Louis grips the warm skin of his waist. 

“Louis,” Harry whispers like a plea that goes right to Louis’s stomach. 

“What is it, babe?” Louis’s heart twists at the name slipping but he can’t control it. Like this, with Harry clinging to him, it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“Let’s go back to bed.”

Louis smiles, presses it to Harry’s neck then drops his head back to look up at him. His hands slip from Harry’s waist to his sweatpants, fingers sliding under the waistband. “But I thought we were watching the movie.”

Harry raises an eyebrow in a way that makes Louis forget every month of space between them. “Fuck the movie,” he says, so seriously neither one of them laughs for a breath and then they both break into hysterics. Harry is still smiling when he curves down to kiss Louis’s mouth and press their foreheads together. “Please?” He says. 

Louis kisses him, and nods. Moving to Chicago being the exception, Louis has never been able to turn Harry down. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

Harry only realizes he’s dozed off when a phone vibrating startles him. His head is on Louis’s chest, Louis’s hand in his hair. He can hear Louis’s heartbeat under his ear, the warm skin of his chest on his cheek. He slowly lifts his head to find Louis’s eyes closed, the sheets tangled around both of them. The phone stops and he puts his head back down. The second he does, it starts vibrating again. 

He sighs and then, slowly, extricates himself from the bed. His body is pleasantly sore and skin still flushed from rounds two and three with Louis. His phone is buried under a cushion on the couch and he finds it by way of sonar detection, feeling for the vibrations through the fabric.  It’s Niall, he finds when he pulls it out; his smiling face staring from the caller ID. “Hello?” He answers. His voice sounds tired but it’s also the same tone he gets from giving head multiple times in one day. He clears his throat to try to hide it. 

“Did I wake you?”

“A little,” Harry says which is easier to explain than to say he had been passed out in a sex induced coma.

“Sorry,” Niall says, “But also not sorry.”

“What?” Harry asks, trying to keep his voice low. 

“The last I heard, you were leaving the club with Louis and now it’s noon the next day and you’re not answering your phone.”

“I answered the phone,” Harry says. He leans to sit on the edge of the couch, his legs crossing at the ankles. Maybe he shouldn’t be sitting naked on Louis’s couch, but it’s only a passing thought. 

“I called twice.”

“Okay.”

He swears he can hear when Niall rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell me where you are?”

“At Louis’s apartment,” he says.

“Harry.” It’s a sigh of his name and he hears the lecture in it. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Harry raises his eyebrows. Niall has never been anything but supportive of him and Louis. “I’m fine, Niall. I want to be here.”

“Okay. Just be careful okay?”

Harry scrunches his nose, “Are you telling me to use a condom?”

It pulls a slight laugh from Niall. “I’m telling you to not break each other’s hearts again. I can’t go through that again.”

Maybe it’s odd for Niall to put it on himself to handle their emotional affairs but Harry knows the truth in it. How many late nights he spent talking to Niall about everything besides how much he missed Louis, how much pain he was in. And Niall always let him. He never rushed him when it was midnight in Chicago and Harry was talking about the weather of the last seven days because it was easier than to admit he was wrong, admit he wanted to come home.

“I know,” Harry says quietly. “I know.”

They hang up and when Harry looks up, Louis is propped up in his bed looking right at him. He’s so gorgeous it takes Harry a second to absorb it, the way his hair looks because of Harry’s hands, the purpling spot on his collarbone from Harry’s mouth. 

“Niall?” Louis asks. 

Harry nods and drops the phone back to the couch. “Was curious where I was.”

“And would like us to use condoms?” Louis asks, smirking. With the cold afternoon light from the window and the shades of white bed covers, it's kind of a breath taking view.

“Generally, yes,” he says rather than explaining the nuances of Niall’s warning.  Harry starts to cross back to the bed and pauses when Louis bites his own lip, his eyes playful. “What?” Harry asks. 

“Nothing.” Louis grins, “There’s just something about you walking over here naked that’s really doing it for me.”

Harry laughs and does his best model walk - which is mostly swaying his hips - and then he cackles at Louis’s answering groan like he’s really on a runway. He stops by the edge of the bed, smiling. He wonders if they should talk about this, do something besides fuck each other again. But then Louis is reaching for his waist and tickling him in a way he’s helpless to. He falls into bed again, laughing loudly. Louis catches him and kisses his smile. Harry can’t think of anything to do but kiss him back.

* 

This time when they’ve had enough of each other, Harry finds himself actually shaky - dehydrated and hungry. He lays star fished on Louis’s bed, his stomach ballooning as he catches his breath. Louis comes out of the bathroom from cleaning himself up and still looks utterly debauched. Harry’s fingernail marks along his biceps, marks on his chest from Harry’s mouth, scratches on his thighs from reverse cowboy. 

“You okay?” Louis asks, crawling onto the bed and falling flat on his stomach. 

“Fucked the life right out of me,” Harry says to the ceiling. They’ve entered some kind of reverse honeymoon. Sex and more sex without talking about anything real. It’s like life is on pause while they ring each other dry of their energy and pent up frustration. It’s the sweetest break from reality Harry could ask for. 

“Think it was the other way around that last time,” Louis murmurs. Harry smirks as Louis presses in close and kisses the side of his rib cage. They’ve never been anything if not equally giving in all aspects of absolutely everything. 

“Don’t go to sleep,” Harry says when Louis starts to close his eyes. “We need food. Water. A shower maybe.”

“Sounds awful,” Louis says with another kiss, this time to Harry’s chest. He lays his head down over Harry’s heart. “Don’t get out of this bed. Don’t put clothes on.”

Harry grins at the ceiling. He doesn’t know how long this alternate reality will last but he’s going to revel in it while he still can. “If you expect me to do anything besides die right here, I need food and water. You can’t keep me as a sex slave.”

This time Louis laughs and sits up, “Alright, alright. Let’s go get food.”

Harry sits up and smiles, “I always get my way.”

Louis looks at him for a beat, rolls his eyes and then heaves himself out of bed. Harry takes full advantage of staring at his ass while he finds something to wear. Louis must know it, glancing over his shoulder and smirking when he finds Harry staring. Harry, for his part, puts on his borrowed clothes again but includes socks with the shoes this time. 

They head out into the late afternoon clouds for food at Tasty Thai - the unoriginal name no reflection on the taste of the food. They walk slow and Harry thinks about holding Louis’s hand but stops himself. Sex is one thing, intimacy in public is another. He’s not sure they’re allowed to mix the two in this temporary state. They both order Pad Thai with chicken and eat like they’re starved, cream cheese crab wontons barely touching down on their table before they are inhaled. They also drink a few too many glasses of water each and keep smirking at each other about it. Refueling after too much sex - if only the rest of the world knew their secret. 

After, they don’t head right to Louis's apartment but circle around the main shopping street, browsing the shops and practicing being vertical after a day of being horizontal. They stop at the Sweet Life bakery on the way back where Louis gets chocolate cake and Harry gets a lemon bar - a usual order from a lifetime ago. Everything seems like a lifetime ago as they walk back to Louis’s, night time already closing in. Another day drowning in darkness, another step closer to Harry’s inevitable decision. He swallows around the thoughts of the future. Right now he has this, he has Louis.

They eat their dessert at Louis’s kitchen table and re-watch the rest of the movie they missed - neither one of them ashamed as they try to remember where exactly Harry had straddled Louis and made them forget the entire thing.  Harry keeps catching himself looking over at Louis as they watch, wondering what he’s thinking about. He doesn’t have to wonder if he’s enjoying himself - Harry has gotten very accustomed to reading that on his face and in the movement of his body. He just wants to know what he thinks when he looks at Harry, what goes through his mind as he kisses him, as he whispers in his ear. 

Once the movie is over, Louis announces he’s going to take a shower and Harry decides to join with a smile and, “What a coincidence, me too.”Louis rolls his eyes but doesn’t tell him to go away as Harry follows him to the bathroom. Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for, he thinks - the moment Louis tells him to go away for good. 

They shower together and it ends up being more perfunctory than intimate though Louis shampoos Harry’s hair and massages his scalp the way he used to.Even though he’s trying to live in the present, it takes Harry back to nursing school and long shifts when he would be nearly asleep on his feet. Louis would steer him into the bathroom when he got home, undress him and then hold him in the shower, wash his hair and do all the things Harry didn’t have the energy to do.

Tonight after they shower, Harry wears a towel around his waist and uses his borrowed toothbrush. Louis leaves him in the bathroom to go turn off the lights and Harry steals a bit of his moisturizer again, dabbing it gently under his eyes. He’s so focused he doesn’t hear Louis come back to the bathroom until he’s right behind him, slipping his hands around Harry’s waist and setting his chin on his shoulder. It’s a weird sense of voyeurism as Harry watches in the mirror while Louis kisses his neck. Somehow it’s hotter to see it happening and feel it at the same time, arousal zipping right from his toes to his stomach. He sees and feels Louis smile against his skin and then watches as Louis’s hands slide down his stomach and over his hips, pressing off the towel until Harry is standing there naked. He starts to shake with something untouchable as Louis drags his nails up the front of his thighs and then back down, up over his hips again and across his belly. 

“Look at you,” Louis whispers. 

Harry looks up and meets his own eyes in the mirror, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. His eyelids go heavy as Louis caresses over his nipples, his weight leaning into Louis before he loses it. 

“Always so beautiful,” Louis says right against his neck, making goosebumps rise on his skin. 

Harry watches their reflections again as Louis’s hands trace down his body and by the time he reaches his cock, Harry is about to burst. His body stiffens, his head falls back and the guttural sound he makes comes right from his chest. It’s sensory overload and he can still feel Louis’s smile. Louis spins him around to kiss him fully and then the bathroom light is out and they’re going back to bed, hands and lips everywhere and in a hurry. They fall into the unmade mess of sheets and for the life of him, Harry can’t remember what round this is. But then Louis is taking him between his lips and spreading his thighs and numbers don’t really seem to matter very much anymore. 

This time they start slower, like maybe sex exhaustion is real, but then Louis is fingering him to within an inch of his life and sex exhaustion just doesn’t seem possible. Coming from Louis’s fingers whites out his vision, his stomach tight as his back bows. Louis licks the trail of come from his stomach and Harry just about loses it again.  As Louis starts to pull himself off, Harry comes back to himself and sits up before pressing Louis down in his place. He uses his tongue and his fingers to make Louis lose his own fucking mind. Getting to whisper, “Come on, baby,” from between Louis’s thighs is its own sweet reward. 

They collapse in their own mess in the end, too tired to do much but roll away from the wet part of the bed and press tightly together on the other side.  Louis draws patterns on Harry’s bicep and Harry presses his face against Louis’s neck, praying he doesn’t wake up if this is a dream. He wants nothing more than to stay like this as long as he can but saying it out loud seems like it will break the spell. So, he doesn’t. He bites his tongue until he tastes blood and pretends that this all well and normal, that his stomach isn’t shaking with the thought of losing Louis again. Louis kisses the top of his head, and his hand snakes down to Harry’s lower back to hold him tighter. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and continues the same silent prayer over and over again, “Please, please, please.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, time to go backwards, to stop all together, to speed up to a happy ending. All he knows is the desperation makes him breathe harder and even then Louis soothes a hand up his spine to settle him like he knows just what Harry is wishing for. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

It’s the thrashing that pulls Louis from the middle of a dream. He doesn’t register it as thrashing right away. It’s more like a ship on the high seas, about to turn over. When he realizes he’s not on a boat is when he wakes up to the dark room. There’s not even a beat of confusion as he realizes it’s Harry next to him, kicking and tangling the sheets, twerking his body in an unnatural position with his eyes squeezed shut. Just like Christmas night, Louis’s gut instinct is to make it stop, to hold on as tight as he can.  “Harry,” he says as he grabs for him, his sleepy reflexes waking up quicker than if a house were on fire. “Baby, hey.” 

He doesn’t know what to do to make it stop, if he is supposed to wake Harry up or if that’s wrong and he’s supposed to wake up on his own. All he knows is that Harry’s skin is hot when he pulls him in close and his body is trembling as he mumbles in his sleep.  He starts to shake Harry lightly, repeating his name louder to wake him up. Maybe it’s not what he’s supposed to be doing but he can’t bear to watch Harry ride the wave of his unconscious, battle demons no one else can see. The moment he sees the lightness of Harry’s green eyes in the dark, a wave of relief pushes over him. It’s so hard and so fast it tastes like euphoria. He presses his forehead to Harry’s. 

“Shit,” Harry says, his voice raspy as his breathing slows. “Shit. I’m sorry, Lou.”

“Shh,” Louis says. “Don’t.” He kisses Harry before he can try to apologize again. It’s slow and he lets Harry be the one to push deeper, their racing hearts slowing and syncing. “Okay?” When Harry stays quiet, Louis pulls back slightly to see his face.  He finds Harry looking at him with eyes on the verge of swimming. Louis’s eyebrows pull together on reflex as he thumbs gently under Harry’s eyelids before anything can fall. “What?”

Harry smiles and it’s kind of watery. “I don’t know.”

Louis doesn’t think he’s telling the truth but he doesn’t want to push it. “Okay.” He brushes his lips over Harry’s cheekbone, pushes his fingers back through his hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry shakes his head. “Same story, different day,” he says. “You weren’t in this one, though.” He kind of smiles when he says it and Louis kisses him again. Maybe it’s taking advantage of him in a compromised state but as Harry pulls him closer, the thought disappears. 

“I’ll get you some water,” Louis offers when they separate this time. Harry hasn’t asked but he wants to give him a moment alone. He knows Harry is embarrassed for waking Louis up but Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. The thought of Harry waking up from nightmares alone makes his stomach sour. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone - ex, friend, foe. 

When he comes back, Harry has re-straightened the blankets and is sitting up against the pillows. It’s a dark night for January but the moon pushes through the cloudy skies and through the window, casting shades of grey around.  “Thank you,” he says when he takes the glass. He takes a tiny sip and sets it on the nightstand, humoring Louis clearly. Louis will take it, privacy was the point; not hydration. 

He gets back under the covers and is heartened as Harry curves himself into him again, locking their ankles together as he presses in close. “Thank you,” he says again,right against Louis’s collarbone. 

“Of course,” Louis says without a second of hesitation. He slots on arm under Harry’s neck to pillow his head as they press together fully. It feels so nice to have Harry against him, to feel his breath and his heartbeat. He’s missed sleeping like this. He’s missed Harry. 

“I’ve never had someone wake me up,” Harry says quietly after a moment. He seems to say it to Louis’s chest but Louis hears him all the same. “I usually startle myself awake from those and then have to figure out where I am.” He takes a deep breath, shaking slightly. “And it was just really nice to open my eyes and see your face.”

Louis’s heart shatters and rebuilds, pulses and then stutters. They are hurt in so many new ways since they decided to separate. He rubs his hand over Harry’s back, at a loss for what to say. He kisses his forehead and chooses against words, letting them settle back into sleepy silence.  He wishes he could hold Harry like this forever but he knows that’s not in the cards for them. They have too many problems and unspoken issues to let this be the solution. But he’ll take it for now, he’ll cherish it like a second chance until the very last moment.

*

Harry leaves to go back to Niall’s in the middle of the next morning. Louis knows it’s inevitable but it stings just slightly to watch him get dressed in the clothes he came over in and then straighten the couch back to the way it was. He folds the blankets and puts his towels in the dirty clothes hamper while Louis drinks a cup of coffee and watches him. He can’t help but feel like Harry is erasing the last thirty-six hours, undoing all they’ve done. He feels the pinch of the bite mark on his chest and remembers all the things Harry can’t erase. 

When Harry is satisfied with his clean up job, Louis waits for him to make the next move, to say something. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Harry to announce he’s actually going back to Chicago now. Instead, Harry comes over to him and takes the cup of coffee from his hand and takes a slow sip. Louis can’t help the smirk on his face. It’s a reminder of so many mornings of his ghostly memories. 

Maybe Harry realizes it too as he sets the cup back on the counter. His hand finds Louis’s waist and then he kisses him slowly, coffee and morning on his breath.  “See you soon?” He asks with another kiss to the corner of Louis’s mouth. 

“Yeah,” Louis says though they have no plans and a future is hard to predict at every turn right now.

Harry keeps eye contact and nods like it’s a pact. Then he’s gone - out the front door with the clothes on his back. The memories of yesterday spread around like a stain Louis won’t be able to get out, settle over him like a pleasant fog. Pleasant for now, he knows. One day, these will be the memories that put him over the edge. 

*

For each year Louis has spent with Harry, they feel faded by the nine months they were a part. For once, Louis has no idea what Harry is thinking the day after their weekend together when he used to know without even looking at him.  What he does know is that his lips feel at home against Harry’s, his heartbeat calmer when they’re tangled in sheets together. So many times in their weekend together he swore he was dreaming even as he caressed Harry’s cheek or pressed his hair back from his forehead.  And yet, even as he understands none of this will last, he has butterflies in his stomach at the mere thought of Harry, light in his fingertips at the desire to touch him again. He spent years falling in love and nine months hasn’t really undone that. 

It’s marvel worthy what one night and long day spent wrapped up in each other can undo in terms of progress. Suddenly Louis wants to text Harry about absolutely nothing, ask if they can see each other even though there’s no reason. It’s like all the strings he thought he’s been severing the last few months are all still connected and one press of Harry’s lips have only tied them tighter.

Louis makes it one night without saying a thing to Harry,without sending a stupid text about his dinner or the weather. He feels like he’s nineteen and they’ve just met all over again. He wants to say something or do something but doesn’t want to say too much or come on too strong. It’s all pointless here - to even spend time worrying over it but, it turns out, worrying and wondering about Harry is second nature to Louis’s life. He can’t help it. 

As if Niall can sense Louis’s restlessness, he invites him over for dinner the next night. “Making minestrone soup and bread. Come.” Is all the text says but it’s all Louis could hope for. It’s not unusual for Niall to invite him over for a Tuesday night dinner but this time feels a bit different and Louis knows exactly why: Harry is there. 

He has to force himself to stay at work until a reasonable hour and it makes him feel like an over eager kid on a first date. It’s like his heart has been given the permission to beat to the tune of Harry’s for a limited time and wants to jump on the chance. For the moment, Louis makes his mind take a back seat.

Niall’s front door is unlocked when he arrives and he heads for the kitchen where he can hear Niall narrating his cooking. Louis knows it’s for Harry’s benefit but he has also caught Niall narrating alone before. He opens the swinging door to the kitchen and finds this situation is the latter: Niall is alone. 

“Lou, hey,” he says, grating black pepper into a pot on the stove. “Perfect timing. Can you grab the chopped spinach from the fridge?”

Louis nods even as his stomach goes spiky. His heart twists as he opens the refrigerator door. Harry’s not here. It’s no offense to Niall but Harry is what made him nearly run a red light on the way over here - the chance to see him, the chance to maybe kiss him. He has no idea where Harry could be - maybe running errands or meeting up with old friends. He takes a deep breath and takes the plastic carton of spinach from the shelf and tries not to care so damn much.

“Smells good,” he says, coming back to the kitchen island.

“It’s a recipe from a co-worker,” Niall says. He takes the spinach and starts sprinkling it into the pot. “I told her I made it last week and said I loved it.” 

“You didn’t make it last week, did you?” Louis manages to smile because this is a very typical situation for Niall to end up in. 

“No,” he says easily. “So here’s to hoping it’s delicious.”

“Fingers crossed,” Louis says. He wants so badly to ask where Harry is, to know for sure if he’s upstairs or he’s at the store or hiding in a cupboard.

“How was work?” Niall asks, pushing on before Louis can ask. 

“Good,” Louis says, voice flat and automatic before he actually remembers his day. “Actually, really good. One of my grants came through.”

Niall’s face lights up like Louis thought it would. “Congratulations, bro. That’s major.” 

“Thanks.” Being a teacher has always allowed Niall a keen understanding of Louis’s work and struggles with funding. It’s nice to have someone actually understand when he rambles on. There’s another someone who always seemed to understand the library system and Louis’s throat itches with his name. “Where’s Harry?” He tries for nonchalant but his voice comes out half choked. 

Niall looks up and Louis tries in desperation to read his face before he speaks. “Didn’t you see him when you walked in? Said he was going to watch a movie and then fell asleep on the couch of course.”

Louis feels relief in a rush that nearly takes him to his knees. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.” Niall raises his eyebrows and Louis has to look away. “I didn’t see him,” he adds. He didn’t see him because he heard Niall and headed right for the kitchen, didn’t even pause in the front room. 

“Can you actually go wake him up? This is almost ready.” Niall narrows his eyes as he looks in the pot. “And if it ends up being poison, it’s important we all die together.”

A laugh bubbles from Louis’s chest at the sheer seriousness in Niall’s voice. There’s also still the lingering sense of relief at knowing Harry is close by, a calming effect he tends to have. “Yeah, I’ll go,” Louis says. 

As he walks back to the main room, he does hear a movie playing softly. From the doorway he can see Harry on the couch and see he’s fallen asleep. His hands are pressed together under his cheek, his knees bent slightly and ankles crossed. Louis pauses to just look at him, something settling in his chest at seeing Harry sleep soundly. He’s in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, rose colored socks tucked up under his pants. He almost feels badly for waking him up but the guilt barely lingers. He knows Harry wouldn’t want to sleep through dinner; and Louis blindly hopes Harry wouldn’t want to sleep through his visit either.  He admires the pinkness high on Harry’s cheeks, the way his lips rest so lightly together. It makes Louis want to kiss him and the thought barely registers as surprising this time. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” He tries, crouching to speak near Harry’s ear. “Time to wake up.”

Even though his voice feels gentle, Harry jolts and his eyes are suddenly open like the thrilling apex of a horror movie. “Sorry,” Louis says quickly, one hand reaching automatically for Harry’s shoulder. “Just me.” He rubs his shoulder as Harry blinks. “Dinner is ready. Niall sent me.”

“You’re here,” Harry says, sitting up slowly and displacing Louis’s hand.

“I am,” Louis says. He straightens up, a flare of butterflies in his stomach. Not the happy kind, the nervous ones with loud feet. “You’re not the only one who gets esteemed invites for Niall’s new dishes.”

Slowly, Harry smiles. There’s a crease on his cheek from where his rings pressed while he slept, his hair slightly higher on one side than the other. “Good,” he says softly.  They stare at each other for a quiet moment and it takes a lot of Louis’s self control to not fall directly on top of Harry and kiss the lights right out of him. It seems that is his default feeling as of late. 

“Are you coming?” Niall yells from the kitchen, cracking the moment. “This soup isn’t going to eat itself.”

Harry rolls his eyes and Louis laughs, “Shall we?”  Harry nods and hauls himself off the couch. Louis moves out of the way to let Harry through and stays a step behind as they go to the kitchen. He knows he shouldn’t overthink but his mind sticks on the way Harry smiled just now, the way he whispered _good_ like maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud. 

*

The soup, luckily for Niall’s reputation amongst his co-workers, is delicious. There’s something about the mix of beef and chicken broth that brings out more of the flavors - or that’s what Harry says and it sounds more knowledgeable than Louis can articulate. Dinner feels normal at Niall’s table - no awkward silences or sticky subjects to avoid. Louis does catch himself studying Harry’s face as he talks, his eyes getting stuck even when the conversation has turned. No one seems to notice - or Niall and Harry don’t let on if they do. 

They linger once their bowls are empty and then all help with the dishes, the radio playing quietly in the background. Louis waits for an excuse to stay longer but as Niall cleans the counter and Harry starts to turn out the kitchen lights, he finds himself coming up empty. But then Harry throws him a life raft: “I told Niall I would watch that new documentary about the U.S. soccer team, if you want to join us.” Louis actually does want to see the documentary but he would stay anyway - even if it was a movie about cows habits while out at pasture. 

“Sure,” Louis says, a slight shrug added for good measure like he’s not completely desperate for the chance to stay. “I’ll grab us a few beers.” 

“You say that like you’re not taking them from my fridge,” Niall says as he heads toward the other room. Harry laughs loudly and Louis flips them both off. 

He ends up in the corner of the couch with Niall in the middle and Harry in the opposite corner. There’s sweet satisfaction in putting his feet on the table as he opens his beer, the opening titles silencing Niall’s babbling excitement over watching the film. 

Louis stays mostly engaged though a spare glance at Harry halfway through shows him nodding off where his chin is propped up on his hand, his beer tilting precariously in his lap. Louis hides a smile against the edge of his bottle.  By the time it ends, Niall is in tears and Harry is being forced to answer trivia questions to prove to Niall he didn’t sleep through the entire thing. “Only the bit with the historical timeline, I swear,” Harry says, holding his hands up when Niall tries to swat him. “Stop it, stop it. And don’t make me watch it again.”

“I didn’t want you to go back to Chicago,” Niall says, “But maybe now it’s a good thing.”

“Shut up,” Harry says lightly, “You miss me everyday.”

“You know I do,” Niall says just before he flings himself into Harry’s space and squeezes him tightly. 

Louis’s beer is empty but he tilts it up against his lips for something to do. He wishes he could tell Harry how much he misses him, how badly he doesn’t want him to go back to Chicago. He can’t though. He doesn’t have the words, for one, and he won’t be responsible for making a decision for Harry when he’s still working on making one of his own. 

“I’m going to bed,” Niall announces when he’s smothered Harry sufficiently. “I’ll leave you two to close down and lock up.”

“This is your house, Niall,” Louis says, “Not a bar.”

“Please do lock the doors anyhow,” Niall says. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns loudly. 

“You got it,” Harry says.

Louis looks over at him, watching as he finishes the last of his beer, the bottle pressed between his lips. Niall’s footsteps echo up the stairs and Louis is staring at Harry’s throat, the way he swallows. Harry catches him, smirks as he sets the bottle on the table. Louis could offer to leave or offer to watch another show but he sits in silence, waiting for Harry’s next move. Harry bites his lip, “Come here.”

Louis smirks despite himself. Funny how they seem to be on the same page here. “You come here,” Louis counters, setting his empty beer on the table. He expects some push and pull, certainly not Harry crawling across the couch on all fours like this is choreographed. 

“Okay,” Harry says and it’s not a question but he pauses for a moment until Louis closes the space and then they’re kissing like Sunday never ended. It’s not a surprise as much as it is natural and Louis leans back knowing Harry will follow as they slip down onto the couch. 

Louis’s hands tangle in Harry’s hair and Harry gasps into his mouth, their legs tangling on the narrow space of cushions. Harry’s weight like this feels like the most natural thing including the way his stomach presses on Louis’s when he inhales. He lets his mind slip for the moment, forgets to catalog the softness of Harry’s lips, the delicate way he sighs when Louis kisses his neck.  “Stay,” Harry whispers when their mouths are red, their lungs are tired. “Stay the night.”

Louis hates his moment of hesitation but he knows his head is giving one last protest against his heart. “Yeah,” he says, the moment hanging. “Yeah, okay.” 

Harry smiles, something small but familiar, and then he kisses Louis all over again. 

** >>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY **

It’s after midnight before Harry pulls back from Louis and smirks. “Let’s go up to bed.” Maybe it’s more forward than he should be but it seems inevitable, the way Louis’s hands are already under the waistband of his sweatpants, the way Harry has already bitten a lasting bruise under Louis’s ear. 

They turn out the lights downstairs and lock the front door like Niall asked then they stumble up the grand stair case in a shadowy ode to all the times they’ve done this before. Harry tries not to let his thoughts linger, instead he focuses on being quiet even when Louis grabs his hips and makes him trip, a high pitched squeak slipping out from his lips.  Harry steps easily into the room they used to share, the one painted with the ghosts of a different life. There’s no hesitation as Louis closes the door behind them and then reaches for Harry, his hands slipping along the sides of his neck as they kiss, bodies pressing together in a simple magnetic force. 

What follows is slow and measured: Harry taking steps back to the bed as Louis guides him, falling down against the duvet without their mouths parting, staying absolutely silent except their even breathing. They don’t talk as the undress, as their eyes meet in this moonlit room again and again, as their mouths and hands explore like this is a treasure hunt and only they have a secret map. 

It’s a quiet dance that curls with bittersweet butterflies under Harry’s ribs even as Louis’s lips drag along the curve of his side and the front slope of his hip. Bittersweet melancholy at all they’ve lost in the past year, all that has been broken. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing with his life but he knows that here, under Louis’s lips and hands, he feels like he can figure it out - like the answer isn’t buried in an impossible landfill. 

“Hi.” 

Louis’s mouth against his and the quiet whispered word pulls Harry back from himself, a smile pressing on his lips. “Hey.”

Louis smiles to match his, his eyes gentle as his lips drag along Harry’s jaw. It feels like a sweet surrender as Harry’s hands slip up Louis’s back and into his hair, his head tipping further into the pillow as Louis kisses down his body. His mind turns off completely and succumbs to the only place he really wants to be, the only person who can make everything go quiet. 

Later, the world outside turns grey with dawn as they fall asleep, skin tacky and hair mussed. Harry’s lips feel like they buzz even as he closes his eyes, his legs tangled with Louis’s.

*

Sometimes Harry wakes up and forgets. He forgets the day of the week, the city he’s in, the dark shadows under his eyes, the hollow space where his heart used to be. It’s a sweet moment when reality is hanging by a string he hasn’t pulled yet. In that quiet moment between sleep and awake is when his mind plays tricks on his heart and makes him think he’s safe and warm in bed with Louis, makes him think nothing has gone wrong. The coldest and cruelest reality is when he opens his eyes and finds the cold side of an empty bed, the untouched pillow of the night before, the dull light of another morning. 

Except. 

Except for this morning, this icy January one, he opens his eyes to warm inked skin and soft hands holding his hips.The night comes back like a silent movie; Niall’s couch and then Louis pressing him into the sheets of this guest room, his toes curling as moonlight threw designs across the dark room, his lips on Louis’s like he needed them to breathe. 

He tries to breathe slowly though his heart seems to race like a horse at the derby. Sharp under his lungs is the realization he never wanted to acknowledge, the one he’s been running from: he doesn’t want to let this go. He doesn’t want to leave Louis and whatever this mess of a thing they’ve cobbled together is. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore, not when the best part of everything is laying right here next to him, sleeping soundly even as his fingers twitch over Harry’s hips. The same sharp feeling comes again on his next breath. It feels like he needs to take a picture of this moment, like maybe it’s going to all disappear on his next blink. He grits his teeth as he feels the panic mount and counts backwards from ten to make it go away. It works, but barely. 

Scared to wake Louis, he slips away from his grip and across the room to the bathroom. In the mirror he sees the traces of their night, the scratches and indents on his skin from the sheets. He can’t see the ribbons tied around his heart, the one Louis ties without even realizing, but he feels them with every single beat. The push, the pull; the tension, the release. 

He brushes his teeth and uses the bathroom, splashes water on his face and runs his hands through his hair. He lets the waves of panic come, the ones he’s brought on by realizing he can’t let Louis go again. It takes a moment but eventually he calms himself to face the bedroom again, his toes curling together as he catches his breath one last time.  He opens the door with every intent of laying back down to practice what he should say to Louis, to organize the words: “I love you, and I want to do it the right way this time” into a palatable sentence. Except when he opens the door, Louis is laying there on the bed looking over at him, his smile sleepy and his hair ruined from Harry’s hands. 

“Was wondering where you disappeared to,” he says in the sleepy sinful voice Harry has missed like a favorite song.

“Right here,” Harry says, his confessional words receding back to his heart before he’s said them out loud. He smiles as he slips back under the covers and up against Louis’s body. 

The room is drenched in grey light now, the hickey on Louis’s neck contrasted more here than it was in the moonlight. Louis reaches up to push Harry’s hair from his forehead with gentle fingers. He lets his hand slide over the curve of Harry’s neck and down to the bed between them. How sweet and impossible it is to explain the feeling in his chest at such a simple gesture.  For the second time this morning, he lets himself wonder if they could ever have this again. If maybe this was not a trick of the light for the last few weeks but a foreshadowing of a chance to try again. The thought feels shaky even in his mind, no legs to stand on or proof it could be true at all. He can’t even bring it up as they lay here in the afterglow of another perfect night, eyes locked and legs tangled. 

It’s Louis’s alarm that startles them apart, Louis rolling to his back. “Another day,” Louis says, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“Another day,” Harry echoes, pulling his legs back to his side of the bed to let Louis go free. Another day to figure out where to go next - what the fuck he’s doing with his life. 

“Hey,” Louis says suddenly, rolling back to his side, “I forgot to tell you.” He’s smiling and it’s catching as Harry finds himself grinning back. 

“Tell me what?”

“One of my grants came through last night,” he says. “Right before I left the office.”

Harry smiles wider and he can feel it in his eyes. “Congratulations, that’s amazing.”

Louis nods, “It’s like gratification that it’s worth it, you know? The long nights and endless applications.”

Harry nods and then does the only thing he can think of, pressing forward to kiss Louis. “Of course it’s worth it,” he says when he pulls back. “I’m proud of you.”

Louis scrunches his nose, “Thank you.” They hold eyes for another beat and then Louis is up and out of bed. “Alright back to reality,” he says. “Need to go shower.”

Back to reality.

The words reverberate around the room as Harry lays in bed and Louis gathers his things. Reality. Right. This isn’t real - it’s just a temporary state. He knows it’s the truth but sometimes the truth feels like rocks in the bottom of your stomach. Harry is so glad he didn’t say anything out loud earlier - about the chance of them trying this whole thing again. It was foolish to even consider and he doesn’t need Louis to tell him so. 

He watches from the bed as Louis puts on last night’s clothes and uses Harry’s toothbrush without a single hesitation. This could be it, Harry thinks. This could be their life again: warm sheets, shared toothbrushes, lips that taste like each other. He’s too sated from the night to even find the words as Louis rushes around. Then Louis is leaving with a quick, “See you,” and Harry’s reality finally comes crashing down. Not even a kiss goodbye. What a quick and sudden reminder of where they are, of everything they’ve lost. 

*

As Harry had expected, the thought of _thinking_ about the future anymore makes him want to throw up. He knows he has multiple paths he can follow - he’s been letting them swim through his head for weeks on end. Today, however, he’s done thinking. 

He gets a cup of coffee, his laptop, his phone, and an oversized booth at Salty’s. Mulling things over is wildly overrated and now he wants to be able to make decisions. So he makes lists of his options and then pros and cons charts for each one. The charts help narrow the list and helps him pull off the unrealistic options, like move to Hawaii and start a pineapple farm. He goes through three cups of coffee and two croissants in the process or figuring things out. He seeks out second opinions via the internet and makes a few calls to inquire about specifics as he narrows the list again and again. There are easy options and difficult choices but he leaves them both on his list, willing himself to be brave. 

When his head starts to hurt - from the caffeine or the charts - he packs up his bag and heads out the door. He takes the long way back to Niall’s, his feet slow under him. His heart wants him back in Eugene. He knows it with every foot step and every familiar corner. Chicago was a long shot and he’s given it a try but it doesn’t tug him as _home_ the same way as Eugene. If he’s being honest, though, he knows he never gave Chicago a full chance. He showed up in a whirlwind and eased into depression without seeking better answers than the ones he found. 

Career-wise, he’s still at a bit of a loss. Coming to terms with giving up nursing makes his breath catch terribly in his throat. All the time and effort he put into it, all the ways it used to ignite everything inside him. All of it…gone. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Harder, still, to imagine continuing on his current path and having the rest of his life plagued by nightmares and ghosts of all the people he couldn’t save. He could move out of trauma but the point of being a nurse will always be to help sick people, and there will always people he cannot do a thing for. To give it up feels like failure. It feels like something to be ashamed of, the kind of thing people whisper in dark corners at a party: “He was a nurse but couldn’t take it”. Part of him wonders about sticking it out, trying again. Maybe it will get better. He stops himself and reminds himself of the reality: it probably won’t.

Changing careers is still a palatable option but there’s fear lodged in his stomach here too. What if he chooses wrong - what if he finds himself in this same position again in a few years. He’s terrified of sentencing himself to a life of reinvention. 

Eventually, he finds himself at the edge of the college campus and he decides to cut through the middle instead of skirting the edges. Classes are in full swing again and the energy is soothing, the endless possibilities that face all the students here. If only they knew what happens once you graduate, once real life comes, he thinks quietly. He hopes no one ever tells them - it would break their collective hearts. 

As Harry wanders, his mind does the same but continues to come back to the conclusion he’s been skirting: it’s about the life.There is a life that has to be built between a job and a life that is more than just the street signs of a city. Lately, it’s what he’s been missing. He’s missed friends, laughter, and love - all the makings of a true life. But, still, he has no idea if that’s what he could find again in Eugene. He had it once upon a time but fairytales aren’t real and good things rarely come around twice. 

Good things. He pauses to sit on a bench near the university library. Sure, he had a good thing but it exploded in the end. He still carries the wounds with him wherever he goes. 

Coming back to Eugene still scares him despite the safety blanket of it all. The ghosts and the memories will still be here and can he possibly sit by while Louis moves on without him again? It would be easier to do so from a distance than right up close. When it comes down to the happiness, love, laughter, everything about Eugene, it always comes back to Louis. Harry can’t pretend it doesn’t.

His mind whisks him back to this morning and the dangerous consideration of starting over again - but not alone: with Louis. The thought gets him off the bench and he starts walking again. Louis’s words of _back to reality_ echoes in his mind but the ghost of Louis’s lips fizz on his skin. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and knows he’ll never _know_ if he doesn’t ask but to ask seems like the single most terrifying question to ever leave his lips. 

He finds his breath coming out rough as his thoughts start to overwhelm him, as all the charts he neatly typed out come to life and dance around his brain. He fishes out his phone and calls his sister - one of the people who can quiet his thoughts without knowing anything is wrong. She proves the same superhero as always - immediately going into a diatribe about the state of produce during global warming because she was just reading an article about it. Harry doesn’t quite listen all the way but he hangs on to the way her voice sounds and the outrage laced in her words. 

Back at Niall’s he grabs a book and a spot on the couch for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, only pausing to help Niall make sandwiches for dinner and then chat briefly. After dinner, he’s back on the couch with his book though his head hardly stops running in circles for more than a moment. 

He’s accepting the fact his life won’t be going back to normal no matter what he does next and that he doesn’t know what normal even is anymore. He can’t pinpoint the last time he actually felt normal, actually had a routine that felt healthy or fulfilling. The truth is, it has never happened in Chicago but it was a long way off in Eugene before he ever packed and left. 

He’s spent these past two weeks wondering how everything happened to him, how he got so unlucky to end up like this. Somewhere along the way, though - he’s realized the answer is quite simple. Everything is a choice. Skipping dinner with Louis to stay an extra shift was a choice. Kissing Louis quiet when he tried to make them discuss what was wrong was a choice. Slamming the door the night he left was a choice. Not coming back was a choice. And he knows now - it wasn’t just him. Louis made choices too. But each choice built a house of cards on unsteady ground and he’s not sure they should have been surprised when it all crashed down. 

It starts to rain at nightfall and it sounds like the sky is falling, drops thrashing against the windows. Harry folds the corner of his book and listens to the reckless noises outside, Mother Nature’s wild call.  For all of his options and decisions, there’s still only one person he’s interested in running it all past. He’s just not sure if he should.

Dropping the book in favor of his phone, he opens Instagram. The first story to pop up is Louis’s - like a backwards sign from an odd universe. Louis rarely posts on Instagram and Harry has certainly not clicked on any of his posts since he’s been in Chicago. Tonight he does. The image fills his screen and he knows exactly the angle where Louis is sitting at his kitchen table as he films the rain slamming against the window at his apartment. Harry swallows and looks up at the posting time: 54 seconds ago. 

His finger hovers over the message box and then he makes a choice: _still up?_ He drops his phone in his lap as soon as he sends it. He doesn’t regret it but he feels foolish without knowing if Louis will respond. He doesn’t have to wait for long. 

Louis: _Yes._

Harry opens the message too quickly, knows that it will show as seen on Louis’s side. He bites his lip. _Can I come over?_ This time he stays in the message long enough to see when Louis starts typing again. 

Louis: _Yes._

Harry releases the breath pushing on his lungs. The rain slows outside as if to match his exhale. This is all a funny way to play with fire and he still doesn’t know if he’s going to get burned. 

He runs upstairs to put on jogging pants and a sweatshirt, grabs a beanie for warmth. He throws on his running shoes, grabs his phone and a key to Niall’s front door then heads out into the night. The rain has already started to pass, the sky clearing up to be a night full of stars as he starts an easy jog down the hill toward Louis’s apartment. It’s been too long since he last ran like this but he loves how he can’t think beyond putting one foot in front of the other, his breath rushing in his chest. He’s spent so much time _thinking _and _regretting_ and he’s so sick of it. He wants someone to point him in the right direction for once, a giant sign and an arrow would be nice.

He’s well out of breath by the time he gets to Louis’s but he manages to wiggle his way in the lobby by following after an older couple who hold the door for him like he belongs. People in Eugene are far too trusting of each other but he won’t complain when it’s benefiting him. He catches his breath slightly on the short elevator ride but still finds himself panting a bit as he arrives in front of Louis’s door.  He swallows once and then knocks three times. He waits a few beats, wondering if Louis has perhaps fallen asleep in the time it took Harry to get here. Then the door swings open and there he is. Harry’s mind goes blank of things to say - all his plans and charts fly backwards into the dark spaces of his mind. 

“Did you run here?” Louis looks him up and down slowly. 

“Yes,” Harry says. “Was trying to clear my head.”

Louis nods, “Well, come in then.”

Harry walks in after him and pauses to take his shoes off. He pulls the damp sweatshirt over his head and hangs it on the coat rack, puts his beanie next to it. He finds Louis looking at him with raised eyebrows. “What?” He asks.

“Just curious if you were going to keep going,” he says. 

Harry smirks despite himself. Now that he’s here, though, he doesn’t know why he came; can’t give himself a good enough reason. He wants to lay his options out to Louis but it seems selfish in every way. Here he is in the middle of the night to talk about himself again. 

“Do you want some water?” Louis asks as they face each other across the room. 

Harry nods, “Yeah, sure.” Like every other time they’ve ended up like this, he feels like they’re playing a game. They’re in a bubble of their own making and though neither one of them has popped it yet, they keep waiting for the moment it breaks. 

In the kitchen, Harry takes the glass of water Louis offers though he isn’t really thirsty.“Sorry to just show up here,” he says. He sets the water down on the table without even taking a sip. 

Louis watches him carefully and then meets his eyes. “You did text me you were coming. Or, you Instagrammed me, I guess.”

Harry nods then stares at his own socks. He doesn’t know why he feels so out of odds right now - why this whole day has been so off. It’s like the file cabinets of his mind have been dumped out and he has no idea where anything is supposed to go now. Louis starts laughing and Harry looks up. “What?”

He bites his lip. “Nothing.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Clearly _something. _

Louis gets this look on his face that is so reminiscent of all of Harry’s favorite memories - his eyes on the edge of mischievous, lips twitching as he tries to figure out what to say. “I was just thinking how handsome you are.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “That can’t be it.”

Louis laughs, takes a step closer. His arms cross over his chest as he bites his lip. “No. Really. I was thinking about how every year you get better looking and I didn’t know that was possible.”

Harry laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do. “That’s very nice of you to say. You too, by the way.”

Louis’s smirk breaks into a grin. “I said it first, I win.”

“Didn’t know we were in a competition.” Each sentence gets them on step closer to each other until Harry isn’t sure what’s happening.Louis is standing inches in front of him, close enough Harry can count his eyelashes if he could keep his eyes off his mouth. 

Louis tilts his head up slightly, “Did you really booty call me?”

Harry exhales a laugh but doesn’t create any more space between them. “What? When?”

“Tonight,” Louis says, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “Or do you start a lot of late night conversations with ‘still up’?”

A booty call. That’s what Louis thinks this is. Harry swallows and doesn’t let the misunderstanding show in his eyes. In this new life they lead, a booty call makes sense; showing up near midnight with a list of ways to start his life over really doesn’t. 

“Just you,” he says quietly. Booty call or midnight life changes - it’s always just Louis. “Just you,” he repeats but it doesn’t matter because the electricity has reached the breaking point and their mouths draw together like two ships following the same compass. 

Harry’s mind goes perfectly blank at the kiss, the way Louis controls the pace with his hands finding an easy home on Harry’s waist. They don’t waste time in the kitchen as they back track to the bed, shedding clothes with only one thing in mind.  They fall into the unmade sheets in a waterfall of limbs and lips, hands reaching and holding on despite all odds. None of it should be like this but for once Harry stops thinking about it. He bites Louis’s lip instead, worships down the front of his body like he’s at an alter. He lets Louis pull him back up and flip them, bite deep marks into his neck and trace his tongue over his nipples until Harry feels like a forest fire with nowhere to go. 

“Want you,” Harry whispers to the ceiling when Louis kisses the curve of his stomach. “Please.”

Louis kisses his way back to Harry’s mouth. “Okay.”

There’s some shuffling around as Louis gets in his nightstand and Harry moves to the center of the bed but it’s all just logistics for the next part and fades as soon as Louis is back between Harry’s thighs. They are a rehearsed dance together, an easy match with the perfect push and pull. Louis takes his careful time working Harry into a frenzy and when he pushes inside, Harry only has to find his eyes to catch his breath and wait for the perfect click their bodies know. When it comes, it’s fire to a torch and they both smile, their bodies bowing and curving to a rhythm all their own. There’s no room for thoughts when they move like this, when Louis is so deeply inside Harry he can’t figure out where his body even ends. 

They fuck hard like maybe it’s the last time, finger nails digging in, bitten lips and pulled hair. It’s physical and sweaty, Harry loses his breath as Louis flips him to his stomach and then presses back inside. It’s wild, hot, raw. It’s everything Harry has missed with them, everything he’s dreamed of. This is their power - the sensual night before and the raw edge of tonight. He can’t believe they gave it up. The thought is pushed as soon as it forms, Louis’s hand holding his jaw as he kisses him back into oblivion. 

When it all ends, they can’t seem to catch their breath. Harry’s cheek is pressed to the sheets, Louis on top of him trying to catch his breath in the curve of his shoulder.  “Holy shit.” 

“I know,” Harry says, trying to smile but unable to feel his lips.

“Best booty call ever?” Louis asks and there’s something cocky in his voice, something possessive there too. Like maybe Harry makes a habit of this.

“Maybe,” Harry says to mess with him. Louis pinches his ass and Harry flails. “Ouch,” he says loudly but unable to move under Louis’s weight. “Only booty call ever,” he says quietly on second thought. “Only ever you.”

He feels Louis’s deep breath as his ribs press to Harry’s back. “Going to clean up,” he says, rather than responding to Harry’s confession. Harry can’t particularly blame him. 

They don’t talk as they put the bed back together except for when Harry pauses suddenly.“What?” Louis asks, replacing the bottom sheet now messy with lube. 

“Can I still spend the night? Even if this was a booty call?” He smiles as he says it even as he wishes he could tell Louis he’s just trying to figure his life out, figure out if Louis is part of that. 

“Duh,” Louis says and Harry wishes all answers were so easy.

Later, they lay in bed facing each other, toes tangled together. They’ve brushed their teeth, moisturized their faces and changed into pajamas and Harry wants nothing more than for this to be part of his life forever. And then suddenly the words that have seemed buried in his chest for all this time well up under his lungs, demand his voice. “Lou,” he says quietly.

Louis’s eyebrows move slightly, his eyes focusing on Harry’s to show he’s listening. 

Harry swallows again, thankful for the darkness of the room and only the moon as their judge. “If I, uh, if I move back here, would you want to try again? Try us again?” The words feel like pulling the pin on a grenade once they’re out and even in their quiet presentation, they explode the moment.

Louis rolls to his back and breaks eye contact, the sheets pulling with him and creating a cold rush on Harry’s skin. He sighs but Harry can’t find any regret. He needs to know, needs to put his cards on the table and find out where they fall. That’s what he came here at midnight for - the guise of plans or booty calls only false shadows he knows now. There’s fear; blinding, sharp and sudden as he waits for Louis to speak. 

“I think,” Louis starts, speaking to the ceiling, “There’s a lot of things you still need to figure out. If you’re even moving back, for one.”

Harry follows the conversation by watching Louis’s jaw move, the words somehow secondary to the tight restraint of his mouth. 

“If you want to start a new career and what that even looks like. Where you would live or where you would work.”

Harry licks his lip out of nervous habit and tries not to startle when Louis turns his head and meets his eyes again.

“I think that’s what you need to focus on. Not me.”

There’s a lump in Harry’s throat drowning out anything else he could want to say. He’d hoped it would be something easy, something simple like Louis saying _yes _but he can’t pretend this doesn’t make sense. He’s the one who left Louis in March, he’s the one who made the rash decision to leave. 

When paths hit walls, he doesn’t try to build a tunnel or work around them; he shakes things up and goes the other way. A flight risk. He doesn’t need it spelled out to understand, it’s everything that’s been sitting on his heart for months. All he needed, really, is the confirmation from Louis that the fear still lingers, that Harry is still not to be trusted with matters of the heart. He gets it even as he feels his heart shatter. 

“I’m exhausted,” Louis says next, erasing Harry’s chance to say anything else. 

“Me too,” Harry says though sleep is the furthest thing from his mind. He would rather climb out the window and walk on coals rather than accept what Louis has just told him. But then Louis rolls to his side, his back to Harry and that seems like the final end to every conversation. Harry turns the opposite way and tries to be silent as he finally lets the tears welling in his eyes fall over the curves of his cheeks. 

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis thinks he’s restless all night but he must have fallen asleep at some point. Proof: when he wakes up Harry is gone. It shouldn’t make his stomach feel as hollow as it does, considering the way last night ended.He sighs and runs his hand over where Harry should have been sleeping but finds the spot cold to the touch. “Fuck,” he whispers as he flops to his back. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have said what he did - maybe it was too brutally honest. But maybe Harry shouldn’t have brought it up right after sex when their brains were still high on each other. No one can think straight that quickly after an orgasm; he’s pretty sure that’s science.  He rolls his eyes at himself. He can’t pretend Harry was anything but honest when he said what he said - orgasms or not. He still knows Harry with every beat of his heart and he knows what Harry said between these sheets was true. And Louis turned his back on him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers again. He sent Harry running and that should be more of a revelation of the truth than anything. If Harry hadn’t meant what he’d asked, he’d still be laying here in bed saying it was all a joke.

Just as he knows Harry with every beat of his heart, Louisknows this too: Harry is a runner.Harry gets scared and overwhelmed, he shuts down and turns off. It’s as bad of a habit as any but it’s distinctly his. The difference is Louis is always the one who catches him, who confronts him and makes him stay. It’s the push-pull that always made them work. Maybe it’s not the things they write down in romance novels but it’s the raw honesty of their relationship, the part they never could quite change.  When Harry ran in March, Louis didn’t chase him. He followed him to the airport parking lot and then gave up. The truth was he couldn’t face the fact that maybe Harry didn’t want to be caught anymore, didn’t want Louis to show up that time. 

Louis sits up and rubs at his face. Last night Harry made it sound like all he wanted to do was for them try again. Like this whole thing was leading here all along - like after all the running to Chicago and back to Eugene he’d finally come home for good. Finally came home and asked for permission to stay. The one thing he’s never asked before and Louis turned him away.

“Shit,” he says, shoving the covers down and crawling out of bed like a match ignited. He crawls over Harry’s side of the bed and knocks his thigh on the nightstand as he stands up “Motherfucker,” he says loudly. He presses his hand firmly on where it stings as if pressure has ever saved any lives. 

Only when he glances down does he realize he’s hit his leg on the drawer of the nightstand that was left open like a hazard waiting for him. The realization immediately turns to confusion and then to horror as he sees a familiar black box sitting on top of a box of condoms and a flash light.  “Shit, fuck, motherfucker,” he whispers as he sinks back onto the bed. Of all the things to make Harry run, finding a surprise engagement ring mixed with Louis’s rejection might top the list.  He grabs the small black ring box and squeezes it in his hand. It’s hard to say what Harry must have thought when he saw it, under what circumstances he was even looking in that drawer. 

Louis is completely struck by the absolute irony of events. How many mornings did he hope for Harry to find the ring hidden in those socks and now he finds it the morning after Louis shuts him down. Amazing. 

He spares one thought for his dignity - what Harry must think of him. Harry says he wants to try again, Louis says he doesn’t want to, only to then have an engagement ring stowed away just in case. He must look insane in Harry’s eyes. A shadow of a broken man. The box snaps shut in his fist and he tosses it back in the drawer, closing it firmly.

He needs a shower and then he needs to find a way to talk to Harry. Maybe it’s time for some actual conversation not interrupted by jokes or lips. Actual conversation about the ways they’re hurting, about how if they can’t be together as they were, Louis still wants to be Harry’s friend. He doesn’t want him gone from his life and he sees that clearly now - something that’s been lurking in the back of his head all this time. And then, somewhere in the middle of that, maybe Louis can explain why he’s still holding onto an engagement ring he’ll never give to anyone else. Perhaps he can throw it in a river a la the Titanic to rid himself of demons. He wonders if that would make Harry laugh. 

He gets off the bed again and ignores where his leg still smarts with the echo of hitting the drawer. He knows he hurt Harry last night with his rejection, he knows Harry has seen the ring, he knows Harry left before sunrise without a trace. Louis needs to find him - needs to get to him before he runs for good. He just needs to get through work first.

Somehow he is still running late for work by the time he showers. Contemplating life, love and loss prior to seven a.m. will do that to a man. He promises to find Harry after work and then promptly busies himself with a to do list of three-thousand things at the library. The to do list is always never ending but seems exponentially longer with the rush of the new year.  The afternoon draws quickly into the evening as he finishes projects and ties loose ends, digs in on a few things he’s been avoiding. It feels good to be productive even if the productivity comes as a way to quiet his mind. By the time he leaves, it’s dark - rain crashing down from black skies. In the car he calls Harry but gets his voicemail, the automated voice message nearly drowned by the rain. He doesn’t leave a message but he doesn’t give up, bypassing his apartment to go to Niall’s.

On the way over he tries to put the right words together to tell Harry. To tell him he doesn’t want to let him go this time, to tell him that whatever he chooses, Louis will be there beside him. And maybe he can’t guarantee what capacity that will be but he wants to figure it out. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.  Niall’s house is lit up when Louis parks outside, the warmth pressing out against the rainy night. Louis jogs to the door and knocks lightly when he finds it locked. He rings the doorbell when he worries the rain has drowned his knocking and then Niall is pulling open the door. “Why are you breathing so hard?” Niall asks accusingly before anything else. 

“I’m not,” Louis says even as he realizes he is a bit out of breath. It wasn’t a distance jog from the car but he does have a certain level of adrenaline coursing through his body right now. “Maybe I am.” 

Niall smiles and opens the door slightly wider, “You coming in?”

“Yeah if you stop making fun of my breathing,” Louis says as he steps inside. 

Niall laughs, “Yeah, no promises on that.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Is Harry here?” He cuts to the chase before he loses his nerve or any more time. 

Niall’s smile slips off of his face like frosting on a warm cupcake. “No, his flight was at two.”

Six words, none of them much longer than a breath and yet they steal Louis of his entire heart as he blinks. “What flight?”

Niall’s jaw flexes, “Are you kidding me? He didn’t fucking tell you?”

Louis swallows but his mouth stays dry. He shakes his head. It feels like his mind should be spinning but instead it’s slowed completely to a simple drag of three words: Harry is gone. 

“Shit,” Niall says quietly with a shake of his head. “I asked him if you knew and he said not to worry about it. I guess I thought that meant he’d told you.”

“No,” Louis says finally finding his voice. “He didn’t tell me.”

His mind starts to take the inevitable spin - his words last night and Harry finding the ring this morning, leaving without a word. In this new perspective he sees how damning it all could be; enough to make Harry run for it. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Niall says like he means it.

“It’s not your fault,” Louis says. It’s all _his_ fault, clearly. And Harry too - neither of them is exempt from this anymore. 

“Well, still come in,” Niall says. “We can have a drink.”

Louis kind of wants to sink down onto the ground of the porch and stay motionless before he gets sick but he walks into Niall’s house anyway. It doesn’t feel like the last time Harry left in March. That’s what his body registers as he follows Niall in a slow daze to the kitchen. Last time when he knew Harry had taken to the skies in an airplane, he’d felt like the world was crumbling and there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. It was the soul crushing and heart stopping pain he’d only ever heard about in the saddest songs. 

This, though - it’s something else all together. It’s confusion ebbing into anger and flowing back toward sadness in a tornado at the center of his chest. It feels like finding out the puzzle he was building has been upside down the whole time. It feels like he never really knew anything at all. He didn’t know there were more ways than one for a heart to break but this feels like a brand new one. 

“I can’t believe he just left,” Louis says.“Without even saying anything.” 

“I thought he was going to stay, honestly,” Niall says. He grabs two glasses from a cupboard and the half-gone bottle of whiskey. “It seemed like that’s what he wanted.”

“I know,” Louis says but then his voice goes quiet again. He had assumed, dumbly maybe, that Harry was seriously consideringstaying in Eugene. It felt like that was the way he was leaning toward even as Louis tried to be a neutral and not press in one way or another. It’s hard to believe it was all lip service but, harder still, to consider Louis’s words last night were what pushed Harry back toward Chicago anyway. 

Niall passes him a glass and Louis takes a sip. It burns from his tongue to his stomach where it finally settles. When Harry said he was going to stay in Eugene, Louis didn’t ever believe he was a factor in the decision. Maybe that’s what is so hard to process in this sudden change: Harry asked them to try again, Louis said no and so Harry left. 

“I can’t believe he’s pulling the same shit as last time,” Niall says with a shake of his head. He sounds disappointed which still isn’t where Louis’s tornadoes of emotions have landed yet. 

Louis rolls his lip in his teeth, his mind still reeling. Last time Harry left before they could talk things out and Louis blamed him for that. But even now, in the corner of his mind, Louis knows that there were two guilty parties in their demise. The night Harry left their apartment, Louis didn’t try to follow. The week Harry spent in Eugene following the fight, Louis didn’t once reach out to try and stop him. Harry is as stubborn as anyone Louis has ever known and he’s recognized that every moment since they first met. In the fabric of their relationship, Harry is the runner but Louis is the one who stops him, who makes him slow down and consider. And he didn’t do that in March. When Harry took off like a rocket, Louis let him. 

He prides himself in the ways he knows Harry better than anyone else - the ways he’s imprinted on his very soul in every way. So he knew in March, as he knows now, there was only ever one way to stop a rocket and he didn’t do it. He gave up on Harry the moment he let him walk away. And now here he is again: Niall’s kitchen, a glass of whiskey and a lump in his throat. He’s letting this all happen again - and not doing a single thing to slow it down. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be like this - maybe Harry shouldn’t be the runner,maybe Louis shouldn’t ever chase him. But when you love someone, you love them for everything: the flaws included. A weaker heart would let it go - find someone new to tie themselves too. Except Louis has never had a weak heart. He’s the brave one to Harry’s fear and Harry’s the jump to his hesitation. They aren’t perfect and they never were but the flaws are what made them great, what made them work, what made them need each other like gasoline to a fire. The mess is what made them. Makes them, he realizes in a rush. 

“Shit,” he says suddenly, standing up and nearly upending his whiskey. “I need to get to the airport.”

Niall stares at him for only a beat and then he’s off like a bullet, grabbing his keys from the counter. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for the last fucking year,” he says as Louis rushes after him. “You’re both the worst people I know and you only really deserve each other.”

Louis can’t find it in himself to laugh because nothing’s been saved yet, nothing has stopped. Maybe he’s running headlong into a forest fire that was arson all along and maybe he’s about to get burned in ways he can’t fix. But there’s one little voice in the back of his head, quiet but confident: what if he can finally save them?


	10. Chapter 10

**>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY**

The sun rises in a slow march letting light crash over the studio in a steady wave. Harry notices it in between rolling around on his mattress, never getting comfortable. Sleeping in a normal bed for a few weeks has done nothing but make him notice just how uncomfortable a blow-up mattress can be. He thought he’d gotten used to it by now. Sleep still doesn’t come as morning hits and instead he settles himself with waking up to the new day. He never bought a dresser so his clothes are mostly stacked oddly in the closet. He tries to avoid tipping them over as he looks for jeans and a sweatshirt in the middle of the pile. 

Once he showers, he goes outside to face the brutal chill of mid-January in Chicago. His teeth chatter and his stomach clenches but not for long as he ducks in the coffee shop just next to his apartment. The barista is brash and everyone is in a hurry as Harry orders his coffee and quickly moves to the side. He always knew Eugene was full of far too kind people - baristas who ask too many questions, waitresses who treat you like their kid - but leaving Eugene has only proved the point again. 

Coffee in hand he goes back to his studio with a heavy stomach. He’s supposed to be happy now that he’s made a choice but he can’t help the lingering indecision. He’s made the wrong choices before and the fear still hangs over him - what if he’s messing up his life all over again? It hurts not to have someone to ask, to check with. He knows it’s his life, his decision but he needs a sounding board - not someone to regurgitate niceties but someone who actually has his best interests at heart, someone who can help him stand on his own when he’s not sure he’s strong enough. Right now, though, he has himself and ricocheting the same ideas around the same mind seems more apt to hurt than help. 

He stands in the window of his apartment and looks over at this city that still doesn’t feel like home. He’s not sure if it ever can. He takes a slow sip of coffee and then a deep breath. He made his choice, made his bed - now he needs to lie in it. He turns to face the apartment and the disaster zone of a halfway house it has become to him. It’s time to put things back together, time to start again. He needs a home, a reliable place to land and this isn’t it. He nods even though no one is watching and then he gets to work. 

It’s only an hour or two later when there’s knocking on his front door. He ignores it and keeps doing what he’s started: folding his clothes and organizing them in stacks by type rather than piles for no reason. He doesn’t know anyone who would come visit him here and he’s rather used to people confusing his apartment with others on the floor. This time, however, the knocking only gets more voracious to the point he thinks the whole door might just come flying down. 

He folds one last sweatshirt and then gets up from his knees to cross the studio, curiosity lacing with fear over who might be on the other side. He pulls it open quickly hoping to show some level of confidence which may be intimidating to a potential robber - or whoever else so desperately needs to get inside his studio. When the door folds open, Harry’s lips part in silent awe but no words rush to get out.

“You can’t fucking do this,” Louis says instead of hello. He has on a sweatshirt and track pants, a backpack and a beanie. He doesn’t wait for Harry to move before he steps in the apartment and presses him out of the way. “You can’t just run away. That’s now how this works.”

Harry opens the door wider. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you did,” Louis says. He looks around the apartment and Harry tries to see it through his eyes and feels nothing but shame. There are moving boxes everywhere and complete disarray of the things that aren’t already packed. His pile of sweatshirts is the only organized thing about this. “What the fuck is this?” Louis asks, motioning vaguely around at everything, “Where are you going?”

Harry licks his lip and tries to compute everything at once. He can’t believe Louis is here in Chicago, in his apartment, yelling at him and demanding answers. “Eugene,” he says. 

“Eugene?” Louis narrows his eyes. “You were just in Eugene.”

Harry lifts his chin, “I came back to get my stuff.”

He watches as the air seems to leave Louis’s body and he deflates, his defensive stance and demanding voice softening. “You left without saying anything, Harry. You fucking did it again,”

The vulnerability in the last words stops Harry short. He hates to be reminded of the way things ended between them before, the wounds and hurt that never seem to go away. It’s not like he meant to leave without saying anything. He just thought he was doing the right thing again, trying to get his life together again. It seems like he can never make the right choices. He tries to find the words to explain himself. “I’m just trying to figure things out, Louis. It’s not personal.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “You disappearing without a trace is always going to be personal to me." 

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry says honestly. “It was just that I was thinking about what you were saying the other night.” He swallows and it’s spiky. He prays his cheeks don’t turn pink from the embarrassment of the memory of Louis’s rejection. “About how I have a lot to figure out still.”

“Harry,” Louis starts but with no clear intent to finish. 

“I just wanted to get started is all,” Harry says. “I’m tired of waiting around and thinking and wondering about what I should do next. So I just decided to started."

Louis watches him steadily. “So you’ve decided to move back to Eugene? That’s part of it?”

Harry nods. “Yes. I have.” He takes a slow breath. “I didn’t want to tell anyone or have anyone think I was making my decision based on their opinions. I wanted it to be my decision alone.” He wonders if Louis knows that by _ anyone _ , he means _ him _. It’s true enough; he knows moving to Eugene is the right first step for him. Figuring out everything else will have to come next.

“Okay.” Louis rubs his face. “You scared me, H. I thought,” he inhales, “I thought I lost you again. We're supposed to be friends, remember?”

Harry wishes with everything that Louis would mean this in the way he wants him to. That he had chased Harry to Chicago by way of proclaiming love instead of worrying about a friend. Harry doesn’t dare say such things. “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he says with a wry smile. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” He hadn’t known anyone would worry, truthfully. Maybe it feels good to be proven wrong on that front. 

“Yeah, well, you’re hard to not worry about,” Louis says like it doesn’t break Harry’s heart. Louis keeps saying the things Harry would love to hear but he doesn’t mean them the way Harry wishes he did. “I see you’ve done a lot with the place,” Louis says, glancing around.

“I’m packing,” Harry says, “It doesn’t usually look like this.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, “You have no furniture except a blow up mattress.” 

This time Harry really laughs. “No use pretending I was living the dream here, eh?”

Lous smiles and it’s soft. “Sorry to bring it up.”

Harry realizes the door to the apartment is still open and closes it gently. “It’s okay.” He shuffles awkwardly, his toes stepping on each other as he tangles his feet. Louis stands across from him with his fingers tucked in his backpack straps like he’s getting ready to run. It feels so weird between them despite the last few weeks of being attached to each other. Maybe Louis doesn't want to date again but it means something he came here; means on some level he still cares. “Do you have a place to stay? Or a flight back?” Harry manages to ask. 

Louis half smiles like it’s a joke. “Nope and nope. Didn’t plan that far ahead.”

Maybe Harry should be flattered that Louis dropped everything to get to him but he feels a bit like an irresponsible toddler. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll probably head back Monday or Tuesday. I have some airline miles to use anyway. And I know someone who lives here, I was kind of banking on crashing on his,” he glances pointedly to Harry’s bed, “blow up mattress.” The smirk turns to a smile. “Plus I’ve always wanted to see Chicago, you know. Maybe you should show me around?”

Harry swallows and glances at the big piles of stuff scattered around his apartment, the remnants of his life he was supposed to be gathering. At least until this very big, very important remnant of his life showed up at his front door. 

“Or do you need to pack?” Louis asks, reading his glance. “I can help.”

Harry parts his lips to answer and then shakes his head to erase the unsaid words. He has Louis right here in Chicago, where he wanted him for so long. It’s more important than packing a few boxes. “No, I’ll do that later. I want to show you around.”

Louis’s smile is something soft Harry wants to touch. “Okay.” He clears his throat after a quiet moment. “Mind if I shower real quick? I feel like I’ve been stuck in a flying tin can for the last six hours.”

Harry laughs and points him in the right direction of the bathroom. While Louis showers, Harry tries to pack up a few more things into boxes but then gets distracted trying to figure out what things to show Louis in the city. With the weather being absolutely unbearable, his list mostly involves art exhibits and a few restaurants and bars he’s wanted to try. It’s almost embarrassing how little of Chicago he’s gotten to see since he’s lived here. He’s brave enough to admit he didn’t have the guts to see things alone, to spend time with his own thoughts for company in public spaces. 

“I need more layers,” Louis says when he emerges from the bathroom with damp hair, a crewneck sweater and jeans. “And socks.”

“You didn’t bring socks?” Harry asks incredulous. “You always have the best socks.” Louis has an entire drawer of wool socks Harry used to steal. He may have a few pairs here in Chicago, though he wouldn’t admit that in a court of law. 

“I was in a bit of a rush,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows. 

Harry rolls his eyes. He finds Louis some thick socks, another sweatshirt and a beanie. He also finds some layers for himself, still knowing it won’t be enough. Chicago cold is something special that no number of layers can truly combat. They agree starting with lunch is the best choice and head downstairs to the lobby of Harry’s apartment to catch an Uber. Louis is inquisitive as ever, asking about the doorman and whether Harry talks to him much (usually not) and if he uses the gym (only once). In the backseat of the car, Harry plays tour director and points out things as they pass them. It’s mostly landmarks - no personal memories or funny stories. If anything, he’s just a tourist like Louis with maybe a bit more familiarity thrown in. 

The restaurant he takes Louis to, luckily, he’s confident in. He went with a few nurses on his unit after he first moved, before he knew what ghosts and demons were lurking. It’s right on the river walk which is almost empty with the way the wind is blowing and the river twirls with the fever of winter. They order a smattering of seafood and share everything, both more hungry than they had realized. Conversation is easy as they both steer around all of the most obvious road blocks: the reasons they’re here at all. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wants to bring it up. He’s not sure what to say but it stings every once in awhile like he needs to clear the air. He could start by saying it was all a joke but such a blatant lie seems terrifying. He gave Louis the truth for a reason, put his cards out on the table. Louis turned away and he needs to learn to accept that instead of an incessant need to fight it. The fact Louis showed up here at all should be a balm to the sting - the fact Louis cares at all. He cares and he worries; he wants Harry as a friend. It should be a balm and maybe it is but there’s just one point that keeps making Harry lose his breath. Even now as Louis excuses himself to the bathroom and Harry watches him walk away: the ring. 

Looking for a phone charger and finding an engagement ring is somewhere near the top of the list of unexpected things that have happened to Harry in his lifetime. Marriage was always a logical next step for him and Louis while they were together. He hadn’t put much time or thought into a proposal or a ring, it just seemed like an inevitable piece of their story. To see it in real life, to touch the box the ring was in … he still hasn’t found the words. Maybe it’s easiest to say it felt like being pushed from the top of a ladder; the sensation of falling backwards so sudden and fierce that your lungs forget how to work. It was a reminder of all they had lost but, more, an extra knife to the heart after Louis’s polite declination of trying again. 

“Ready?” 

Harry is jolted from his reverie by Louis putting on his jacket and he stands to join him, pulling on his own jacket and fishing out his gloves. They take a cab to the art museum and wander aimlessly for a couple of hours. They’re mostly quiet but it’s the kind of quiet Harry loves with Louis: completely comfortable. There’s no need to say anything, no side comments or filler conversation. It’s just them - pointing out their favorite pieces or chasing down the featured exhibits they’re most excited to see. It’s easy in a way that makes Harry forget he’s even in Chicago at all. It’s just him and Louis surrounded by fascinating art and installations and somehow it’s all that matters.

“Where to next?” Louis asks once they’ve had their fill, late afternoon slowly melting into evening. Darkness presses in on the edge of the grey sky. “Actually,” he starts before Harry can, “Can we go see The Bean?”

“The Bean?” Harry repeats only slightly incredulous. “A giant metal bean? Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s like the biggest landmark in Chicago.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “I’m pretty sure you could get thrown out of Chicago for saying something like that.”

Louis laughs, “I thought the midwest was supposed to be nice. Is it close by at least?” 

For all Harry doesn’t know about Chicago, he does know the answer to this. “Yes, actually. But you’re going to be so cold, you’ll regret the second we start walking toward it.”

Louis narrows his eyes and his lips twitch, “Try me.” 

It ends up being borderline hysterical as they trudge through Millennium Park to the beloved Bean. The wind is biting and stray snowflakes dance from the sky. Harry makes high pitched noises with each new gust of wind and Louis stays stoically quiet, trying to keep his word about not complaining. Even with the cold temperatures, there’s tourists surrounding the bean sculpture and taking pictures. Louis and Harry do their part, taking a selfie and then solo shots in front of the piece. The second the last picture is taken, Louis bursts: “It’s so fucking cold, I’m gonna die.” 

Harry cackles so loudly they catch some wayward glances and then they’re running toward the nearest bar, teeth chattering the whole way. They have a couple of drinks and split a burger while they warm up, cheeks pink as the blood returns to its normal flow. They both laugh far more than is probably called for but the euphoria of warming up again does wonders for their moods. The night takes them to another bar with a pirate theme where they drink rum cocktails out of cups with flaming rims and then they head back to Harry’s, lightly tipsy but mostly happy. 

“This place is a mess,” Louis announces when they walk into Harry’s apartment. 

“You did catch me in the middle of packing,” Harry reasons as he turns on the heater and flips on a few light switches. 

“Don’t kid yourself,” Louis says, “You don’t even have a dresser.”

Harry bites his lip and then laughs. Maybe it’s okay to find humor in the utter despair of his life. This is the grand finale of this chapter as it is; the next is still unwritten and undrafted but he knows he’ll figure it out. Or, at least he’ll give it his best shot. For now, he’ll enjoy the beginning of the end of his old Chicago life with the person he once dreamed of sharing it with. 

“Should we watch a movie?” Harry asks. “I don’t feel like packing more tonight.”

“We should definitely watch a movie on your blow up mattress,” Louis says. “It’s what I dream about most, honestly.”

Harry rolls his eyes and sets about finding some warm clothes for them to change into. A movie night in bed with Louis is what he dreams about most too - not that he can say that out loud now, though. 

It’s later when they’re both under the covers with Harry’s laptop in their laps, _ Moonlight _ more than halfway finished, that Harry becomes acutely aware of Louis’s body next to his. They haven’t kissed in Chicago, haven’t touched or held hands the way that became strangely ordinary over the past few weeks. Harry wants it like a magnet to metal but his heart is still twirled in the pain of Louis telling him to focus on something else, turning him down. Harry understands it, maybe, but it doesn’t make the feelings go away, doesn’t make it easier to sit just inches apart and let it all go. 

In the haze of midnight and under the guise of sleepy eyes, Harry lets his head tilt to rest on Louis’s shoulder. He goes slowly and holds his breath in case Louis pulls away. It doesn’t happen. Instead Louis moves his hand to rest gently on the top of Harry’s thigh and Harry’s heart flutters. He may have been told no and maybe it’s the truth but here, in one touch, Louis has ignited the butterflies in his stomach with a new feeling: hope.

** >>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS>>>>>LOUIS **

Louis hasn’t actually slept on an air mattress since childhood and he remembers why when he wakes up the next morning. His back and hip ache from the lack of support and, perhaps unrelated to the mattress, the floor is ice cold when he stands up. “I’m so glad you’re moving,” he says as he stands and stretches. “This is a terrible way to live.” Harry hums from his spot on the other side of the mattress but doesn’t open his eyes or move in the slightest. Louis smirks as he watches him, the way his hair falls over his cheek and his fingers hold tightly to the edge of his pillow. Louis would kiss him if he could but that’s definitely not what he’s supposed to do. Not when he told Harry no and has now recommitted to just being his friend. It would be mixed messages to blow the whole thing now and kiss him. 

“Stop looking at me,” Harry says without even opening his eyes, a magic trick Louis is rather impressed with. 

“I’m not,” he says as he turns away and heads for the bathroom. He wills himself to think of everything except for Harry’s warm body and very kissable pouty face. 

They go out for breakfast to a place just down the street from Harry’s apartment. He’s apparently never gone to it despite it’s very near proximity to his front door. “Bit depressing to go to breakfast alone,” is the reasoning he gives. Louis takes it. He still gets a twinge whenever Harry makes such an offhand comment about his life here in Chicago. Not that Louis was living on butterflies and flowers on the other side of the country anyway. Still, he’s happy Harry is getting away from all this. Though bits of it are selfish reasons, he’s mostly happy on Harry’s behalf, thankful for his own mental health and sanity. It’s scary to uproot yourself and it’s the second time Harry’s done it in under a year. Louis isn’t sure how to help replant his roots but he surely wants to try.

“Should we do more sightseeing?” Harry asks over his first sip of coffee. 

Louis gets lost in watching him for a moment, the way he holds the mug and the way his shoulders relax just slightly when he takes a sip. After all this time, there are certain things about Harry that make him feel the way a home should. Not for the first time in a long time, or the first time today, Louis wonders about the possibility of doing this again with Harry. Doing life again with Harry. Harry caught him off guard when he brought it up the other night and there aren't many free moments when Louis isn’t thinking of his reaction, the things he said. It’s true Harry has things to figure out - a lot of things - but it’s not true that Louis doesn’t want him for the same reasons. Louis loves him for the exact things he’s doing now - the bravery of saying yes to his happiness, of doing what it takes to get where he wants. Except now, here, Louis isn’t sure how to say any of that at all. 

“We don’t need to do anymore,” he says instead of anything significant. “But I can help you pack instead? If you want.”

Harry watches him for a moment. “You’d rather help me pack than see a new city?”

Louis feels himself blush as if this, of all things, is something to be flustered over. “The new city is cold as fuck, to be fair.”

When Harry laughs it spills over his face like sunshine through a cold window and even at the mere thought of the metaphor Louis knows Harry has him sunk like a battleship. All the pain, anger, resentment, and confusion have nothing on the way Louis’s heart still beat for him. After all this time. Maybe always. 

“You can help me pack,” Harry finally agrees. “We can watch movies while we do it.”

Louis takes a bite of the omelette he ordered and nods. “Sounds better than any tourist trap here.”

After breakfast they wander to another coffee shop for a second shot of caffeine, then to the grocery store for some moving boxes and packing tape before heading back to Harry’s apartment. 

“We’ve spent a lot of time packing boxes in the last month or so,” Harry points out as they work. 

“Far too much time, honestly. At least now we’ll both be settled again.” Harry hums in response and Louis just keeps stacking sweaters into the box in front of him. He hasn’t given much thought to the actual reality of Harry being back in Eugene yet, of them somehow integrating their lives as exes or friends or whatever they are these days. “When are you flying back, by the way? Soon, hopefully, now that we’re packing you all up?”

Harry doesn’t miss a beat as he finishes wrapping his dishes - all two plates and two mugs - in newspaper. “By the end of this week. I need to go into the hospital to put in my resignation. I want to make sure it’s a smooth exit.” He snorts lightly, “Or more smooth than it feels right now.”

“They’ll understand.” Louis pauses his sweater folding. “They obviously gave you the leave for a reason. To figure this all out.”

Harry attempts to fold his moving box shut and then stops. He sighs and presses his hands back through his hair. “It still feels like letting someone down.”

“Capitalism,” Louis says wisely. “Makes you feel guilty for needing to put yourself first.” Then he smiles softly, “I do know what you mean, I swear.”

Harry rolls his eyes but nods. “Appreciate the support.” He bites his lip, “It’s going to be better. Or, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“It will,” Louis says confidently as he goes back to sweater folding. “And if it’s not, we’ll figure something out. It’s never too late to start over.”

“I don’t want to keep starting over.” This time Louis hears the edge of desperation in Harry’s voice, the one he is clearly trying to hide. He drops his sweater mid-fold and goes to him. Harry has his hands braced on the counter, eyes on the floor and finally looks up to meet Louis’s eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says. His hands twitch to touch Harry but he’s not sure that would be any help at all right now. Not in this constant swirl of emotions. “It’s scary.” 

Harry huffs a small laugh and glances out the window overlooking the street below. “Understatement.”

“You’re not rushing into it,” Louis says. “You’ve been thinking about this awhile and you’re going into it slowly. You’re trying.” He waits for Harry to look at him again. “You’re trying and that’s all you can really do, yeah? There’s no perfect plan to life, no answer key. We just have to keep trying and if all else fails, you simply try again. It doesn't mean it's easy but you don't have to do it alone.”

Harry nods along with his words and takes a deep breath. “Lou?”

“Yes?”

“If I call you at midnight in a dry heave panic attack, please give that exact speech again.”

Louis grins, “Was I that good?

“Fuck off,” Harry says but he’s smiling again. “And go fold my sweaters.” 

“Bossy,” Louis mutters but then goes to do as he’s told 

They make pretty good progress by the end of it all. They watch two movies and order pizza in the afternoon, label the boxes and stack them neatly by the wall. Harry leaves a suitcase worth of clothes for the week and the blow up mattress and blankets. Louis calls to arrange a trailer to haul the stuff back to Eugene in a few days and then books himself a flight for the next day. The day slips quickly but they get plenty done, laughing most of the time and leaving real life and the woes that come along with it alone for a few hours. 

For dinner they decide to venture outside - or at least across the street to a rooftop Italian restaurant Louis finds via Google. “Take it you haven’t been there either?” Louis asks as they change from sweats to jeans and presentable shirts. 

“It looks like a place you go on a date,” Harry notes, looking at the pictures of the space over Louis’s shoulder. “Not really my vibe.”

“There’s great reviews on the truffle pasta,” Louis says as he clicks further in to the website. “And suddenly I’m craving it.”

“Of course you are,” Harry says as he starts to put on his shoes. Louis hears rather than sees him roll his eyes. 

The restaurant is a certified date spot, deep red cushioned chairs and ornate wood paneled rooms, staff dressed in suit jackets. Louis and Harry don’t pay much mind to the details ordering pasta, salad, and bread plus two bottles of an Oregon wine they’ve always liked. As they eat and chat, Louis can’t help the smudging feeling that it does feel like he’s taking Harry on a date. Not in nerves or in stilted conversation but in how he keeps wanting to make Harry laugh and the way he finds himself leaning in to everything he says. He loves the way Harry’s cheeks get pink on his third glass of wine, the way he forgets his jokes right in the middle. He absolutely hates the way everything has happened between them, all the brokenness that keeps this from being just perfect. They finish their second bottle of wine before they leave, both leaning into each other heavily as they exit the restaurant into the snowy streets of the city. 

“Go slowly,” the doorman warns. “It’s a bit dicey in some spots.”

“Got it,” Harry says over his shoulder. “Only going across the street.” He starts to slip on the last word and Louis has to catch him, both of them laughing like wild animals. 

The lobby is quiet at Harry's apartment, the elevator humming softly as they step inside. The hallway to on his floor is so still and so silent they can hear their own breathing. It feels like the world is empty besides them and Louis loves it, almost wants to say it out loud. 

“Louis,” Harry says before Louis can even say a word.

“Hm?” Louis asks. They’re in front of Harry’s door facing each other, the key somewhere deep in Harry’s pocket.

“I think I could have loved it here,” he says. “Loved Chicago if you were here.”

“Harry,” Louis says, breaking the moment sharply. “Please, don’t.” For all that is perfect and for all that is flawed, it always seems to come back to this. Harry went to Chicago and Louis refused. It’s becoming a tale as old as time and he hates it. 

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He licks his bottom lip. “It’s just that - it’s just you. You’ve been here less than a day and you’ve already made it better than it ever was. It’s not just here either, it’s wherever we go. It’s always you.”

It’s a long sentence and rambled but Louis soaks in every word, hears every syllable, nuance and hidden tilt to his voice. “Harry,” he says. It’s slow and easy, no questions and no answers. He doesn’t know what he should say here. Once again, its Harry exposing his heart and words to Louis and Louis clamming up. For a beat, Louis waits for Harry to run, to take it all back. For the second time in as many confessions, Harry raises his chin and refuses to budge. He waits and holds his breath for Louis’s reaction. 

Just like that night in Louis’s bed, he still doesn’t have the perfect thing to say. But, this time, he doesn’t shut Harry down with half truths or lies. Instead he takes a step, closes the space between them and kisses Harry right on the mouth without a single pause. He steals his breath and presses his tongue against Harry’s teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and prays to the altar of Harry’s heart that for once they figure out how to do the right thing. 

They stumble in the apartment in a mess of limbs and tripped steps. The path to the blow up mattress is clear from their packing and they find their way in the dark. Their lips never part as they start to undress, lips tracing lines and tongues drawing paths against each other’s skin. Under the blankets, Louis loses track of where he ends and Harry starts. Their bodies press tightly together, their legs intertwined. It’s warm under the covers and the heat between them only builds. There’s no room for words of any kind, only this physical kind of language they share, the one no one else knows. Their energy is raw and Louis feels its power like a drug as his bites along Harry’s neck, as he holds Harry close as he falls apart in his arms, swallowing the guttural sounds from his mouth. 

When the finish they don’t separate. They catch their breath against each other, hands refusing to loosen their hold. The moment Louis thinks he can speak, Harry presses his face to Louis’s neck and breathes in slowly. It steals the words from Louis’s mouth altogether and he instead runs his hand through Harry’s hair the way he used to love.

Louis has no idea how much time has passed before Harry pulls back slightly. They move to face each other, the blankets pulled tightly around them. The moment feels fine in the silence but Louis feels like he owes it to Harry to finally say something. "H," he says softly for a start. 

Harry blinks slowly. "Yes?"

Louis takes a deep breath. "I know you found the engagement ring."

There isn't shock on Harry's face or surprise he's been caught. "Yes."

Louis swallows. "I don't think it's a secret that I thought we were going to get married one day." He watches as Harry's jaw flexes and then how Harry bites on his back molars like when he tries not to cry. "And I was planning to propose. To you." Louis sees the tears fill Harry's eyes and it makes his throat tight. 

Harry nods. "I know."

"You knew?" Louis asks, surprise stealing his emotion.

Harry nods again. "Not about the ring or about when or anything. I just," he shrugs and ruffles the blankets with his shoulders, "my forever was always you. It seemed inevitable."

"Right." Louis closes his eyes, unsure where this conversation is going or should go. It's not worth backing out now or twisting it to say they're just friends. It would be a lie and they don't need to say it out loud in order to catalog it as such. "I never got the chance to do it but I held onto the ring anyway. I don't want you to think I left it out for you to find or something." 

Harry wipes at a stray tear and huffs a quiet laugh. "I was snooping, to be fair. You should never look in someone else's nightstand."

Louis smiles, small. "True." Except that they've always shared everything and it was never that strange for them to go through each other's things. 

"For what it's worth," Harry says slowly, his eyes on Louis's shoulder instead of his face. "I don't think a ring could have saved us."

Louis takes a sharp breath at the truth of his words. He's never really thought about it in those terms. A ring may have made them hold on a little longer but perhaps the breaking part was always inevitable. 

"But I think _we_ could have saved us."

"Harry," Louis says, at a loss for anything else. 

Harry licks his bottom lip. "I've been thinking about it, about all the things we did wrong. I just wish we could have focused more on each other, you know? We had a really good thing. We really loved each other."

Louis laughs and then realizes he has tears on his face. "I know we did, H. We really did." We still do, he thinks but can't figure out how to say it. 

"And I think, maybe, we had to break up in order to see that."

Louis can't believe this is a conversation they're having. "You never really know what you've got until it's gone," he says. 

Harry nods. "Yeah."

The word hangs in the air and then Louis feels like it's his turn again. "The other night, when you said you wanted to try again?" Harry closes his eyes like the memory hurts and Louis kicks himself. Harry has hurt him too but he's the one throwing the punches lately. It takes a moment for Louis to realize Harry isn't going to respond. He reaches out to touch his face, run his thumb along Harry's jaw. Harry opens his eyes and they swim with tears. Louis swallows. "I'm talking to you, you know."

Harry sniffs and a stray tear slips. Louis catches it with his thumb. "I know. I just don't know if i want to hear it."

Louis nods. "Let me finish. When I said you needed to focus on all of those other things, I thought maybe I was helping you. Giving you a free pass to not worry about me or what I wanted." Harry opens his mouth and Louis places a gentle finger over his lips so he wont interrupt. "I still believe what I said. I still think you have a lot to figure out and get going in your life. But, what I didn't say that night, and I want you to hear now, is that I'll always be there. I don't know what that looks like, what we want that to look like. But maybe that's on the list of things to figure out, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Harry's lips tremble under Louis's finger and then he presses forward to kiss Louis, his lips salty with stray tears. "That's all I ask," he whispers and Louis wraps his arms around Harry to pull him in closer, their hearts beating side by side. There are no more words for tonight, those will come; Louis knows it.

*

Morning comes slowly but sudden, Louis blinking his eyes to the cold morning light drowning Harry’s studio. They never shut the curtains the night before. He’s wrapped around Harry the way they tend to be when the sleep; he can feel Harry’s heartbeat under his hand. Like Harry knows he's awake, he moves his hand to hold Louis's against his chest, their fingers intertwined. 

"Good morning," Louis whispers, his nose tucked in the longer curls of Harry's hair. 

"Morning," Harry says, slow and sleepy.

After last night, Louis is happy to find Harry is still here. He knows they'll have scarier conversations to come and they'll both need to be brave in order to make it to the other side.

“Hey,” Harry says suddenly, his voice cracking through the silence with sleepy tenderness.

"Hey," Louis repeats, a slight question in his parroting answer.

“Maybe when I come back to Eugene I could like … I could take you on a date.”

Louis hesitates to pause for too long but he’s scared to make promises. He told Harry he had things to work on for himself, that he owed to himself to focus on that and he still believes that despite the realizations of his heart. He still won't let Harry make decisions based on anything beside what he wants deep in his gut. Louis doesn't want to get in the way, “Let’s take it day by day,” Louis says softly. He presses his forehead to the back of Harry’s shoulder, closes his eyes and prays this is enough of an answer for today. 

“Okay,” Harry says. “Okay.”

*

Later in the morning, they wait in the lobby for Louis’s Uber to arrive to take him to the airport, his backpack packed exactly as it was when he arrived. Harry is in sweats and a hoodie with the hood pulled up, his hands shoved in the kangaroo pocket. It feels like a funny goodbye, the lobby guard watching them wearily. 

“Thank you for coming,” Harry says just for them, maybe oblivious to the guards watchful eye. 

“Of course,” Louis says. “Thank you for showing me around and letting me borrow your blow up mattress.”

Harry grins, “No problem.”

“You’ll call me if you need anything?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. I should be okay though, just need to close a few more loose ends here.”

“Okay. But any midnight panic attacks or nightmares, you know I’ll answer my phone.”

Harry rolls his eyes but when he says, “I know,” Louis believes him. 

Louis’s phone signals his driver is outside. “I’ll see you in Eugene,” he says, adjusting his backpack. 

“See you there,” Harry says quietly. Louis watches the indecision on his face as his eyes brush Louis’s features. Then, slowly, he leans in and brushes his lips against Louis’s cheek. “Have a safe flight home.”

“Thanks,” Louis says. He feels the heat of Harry’s lips on his skin. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“See you soon,” Harry confirms. 

Then, because Louis can, he leans forward and kisses Harry right on the mouth. It’s nothing messy or drawn out and seems to catch them both equally by surprise. Maybe they don’t know what they’re doing but Louis knows they want to figure it out. Maybe he’s just trying to help them find their way, 

He doesn’t waste more time after the kiss just turns on his heel and heads out the front door where his driver is waiting. In the backseat of the car he watches Harry through the window. Harry waves as the car pulls away and Louis waves back until his car is lost in a twirling mess of others. The entire drive his stomach is tied in knots at the idea of leaving Harry. He tries to practice easy breathing with the knowledge that Harry is coming back, that this isn't really goodbye. 

As his flight leaves the airport a couple of hours later, Louis feels his heart heavy in his chest and he knows exactly why: one half of it is still somewhere in the middle of Chicago. Things aren't perfect yet - he knows - but he can't help the feeling his heart won't feel anywhere close to whole until Harry is back where he belongs, back with him as they try to start again.

**>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY>>>>>HARRY**

The morning Harry leaves Chicago, there's a snow storm that delays his plane by three hours. It seems fitting as he circles the O'Hare airport for the one-hundredth time with his suitcase, waiting for his flight to be called. He finally gets up the courage to leave this city and it still won't let him. 

The last couple of days have been exhausting as he's tried to get everything ready to go. The night after Louis left he had a nightmare for the first time in over a week and it felt like every omen in the world was telling him he was making the right choice. Meeting with the hospital wasn't as scary as he'd made it out to be and no one was disappointed in his decision to resign. It almost made him want to cry as he signed all the final papers and turned his security badge in. Cry for the emotional journey of the job and cry for the relief of being able to let it go. He managed to keep it together until he left the hospital. Then he called Louis and started crying almost immediately anyway. There was just something in Louis's voice and in the quiet way he said, "I'm proud of you," after Harry had been feeling ashamed for so long. 

_Louis_. 

As he comes back to his gate to sit and wait to board the plan, he smiles at Louis's name even in his thoughts. He's not sure what they're doing yet but he feels stronger knowing Louis is on his side. They've laid bare some serious wounds and he knows it will only continue from here but he prays, hopes, it will make them stronger in the end. He doesn't know what the end will look like but he just knows who he wants to have standing by his side at the final curtain call. 

*

Once the flight actually makes it off the ground in Chicago, Harry lets himself daydream about the perfect first date to take Louis on. He wasn't kidding when he brought it up with Louis on that last morning on the blow up mattress. He wants to do this right and if taking it slow is the right way - he'll do it. There are scars that are not easily erased and trust they will need to nurture but Harry can't wait to get started. He's missed out on nine months with Louis and he doesn't want to waste another moment. He's ready to put in the work to make things right again. His daydreams about dates turn into plans for himself eventually. He knows he'll need to stay at Niall's while he gets back on his feet and then he'll be enrolling in some certification classes to qualify for social work. Eventually, he'll need his own place and to start looking for a job but, as Louis pointed out, it's best to take it day by day. 

The moment the plane lands in Eugene, he wants to call Louis but stops himself. He knows Louis is serious about not getting in the way as Harry rebuilds his life and he wants to respect that. He'll take it as slow as Louis wants, he's promised himself that. He just hopes he can keep himself from blurting out how he wants Louis lodged between his ribs and under his skin at every moment. Even as he rebuilds, he just wants Louis all of the time. He is strong on his own, he can rebuild his life on his own - but he will always be stronger with Louis next to him, always be more confident when Louis is his. He didn't make the rules of being in love, he just plays by them. 

The airport is fairly empty as Harry walks through, the delayed flight making them the last ones to land. It's eerie to see everything empty as he exits security and heads for baggage claim. He starts to worry about being able to get a taxi at this time of night when he pulls up short and nearly trips himself.

The day he left for Chicago, he begged for Louis to show up at the airport. He nearly missed his flight because he thought for sure Louis would change his mind and come with him. Now, ten months later, and after one hell of a journey, its Louis standing at baggage claim waiting for him. Full circle in a way that makes his heart ache and sing in equal parts.

Harry takes a deep breath as he starts to walk toward him. Taking it day by day, he tells himself, they're taking it day by day. Louis looks up when Harry gets close and his eyes say, hello and I love you all at once. But Harry barely catches that because it's the moment Louis says the words Harry has been dying to hear for months: "Welcome home, H." Then he opens his arms and pulls Harry in, presses his face to Harry's neck and kisses just under his ear. They may be in an airport surrounded by strangers but Harry can't even pretend to care. He's back where he belongs, back with the one person he can't ever imagine living without again. He's home, he's home, he's home. 

*


End file.
